


The Regime

by AveChameleon



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Action & Romance, Alternate Universe - Human, Dystopian Future, F/M, Minor Character Death, Not saying who, Porn With Plot, Romance, Science Fiction, Smut, Vegebul Smutfest 2021
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-15 13:41:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29436972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AveChameleon/pseuds/AveChameleon
Summary: On the surface, Bulma is a simple engineer who conforms to the Officially Approved dress and behavior. Mostly.But she holds a secret, one that could destroy her if discovered. And in the arms of a stranger at an illegal underground dance party, she starts down a path that could risk everything she fights for.In a world where pleasure has been outlawed and human contact forbidden, people will somehow still find each other.
Relationships: Bulma Briefs/Vegeta
Comments: 113
Kudos: 110
Collections: TPTH Vegebul Smutfest





	1. Cropped Top and Ripped Jeans

**Author's Note:**

> The night had no moon. Of course—that was the point of scheduling it tonight. Less light meant less chance of being seen. Bulma looked carefully out from the dark corner where she stood; no Patrols. No sound of hovercraft. Good. She took out the hidden chip, activated it with her thumbprint to show the projection that would guide her to her destination.

Not far. Two blips north, then a left. She memorized the route she would take, then carefully tucked the chip back into her baggy worksuit. Another scan for safety, and she hurried on her way.

She reached the small, nondescript green door without incident; only once had she had to freeze in place as a Patrol went by. Bulma took out the chip one last time, slotting it into the reader in the door, then crushing it once the latch unlocked. Quickly, she slipped inside.

Finally. She was free. Just for one night, she was free. She unzipped the worksuit, stripping it off to reveal her illegal crop-top shirt and short skirt underneath. The worksuit and utility boots she kicked spitefully into a corner. Looking into the mirror in the entryway, she pulled out the band holding her hair in the Officially Approved functional ponytail and ran her fingers through her blue hair, relishing in the freedom of the flowing locks. She missed make-up. If she only had a little blush, a touch of mascara, a smidge of lip gloss...but that was too much to risk. She pinched her cheeks and lips to get a little pink in them, then headed inward toward the beating heart of the building.

As she entered the dance floor, the thump of the bass entered her body, reverberating around her heart. She closed her eyes, letting the music move her without the interference of thought. She swayed, her hips moving and arms waving. Around her, strangers of all shapes and sizes and sexes moved together, bumped into her, brushed up against her, occasionally even enclosed her in a small embrace which she’d return, as they all relished the freedom to finally touch. No further, though—not without permission. That was the one rule, and it was heavily enforced. Bulma let her mind flow into a state of pure serenity as the feel of other people, the press of skin and the smell of sweat and the heat of moving bodies, somehow erased the last fifteen years of oppression and isolation.

When she opened her eyes, someone was staring right at her. A man. A damned good-looking man. His eyes looked pitch black in the darkness of the party, but she could feel the heat behind them from all the way across the room. She smiled at him, beckoning him with a toss of her head. He needed no other invitation; he headed directly toward her. She took the opportunity to run her eyes over him—his muscled chest was not well-hidden by the tight black t-shirt he had somehow poured himself into, and the ripped jeans, though they had obviously seen better days, still outlined his slim hips nicely.

When he got near, she reached out her hand to pull him into her and he followed without hesitation. The almost imperceptible difference in their heights meant their hips fit into each other perfectly as they began to move together in time to the music. He smelled wonderful—sweat and musk and maleness. She didn’t try to speak to him; they wouldn’t have heard each other over the music anyway. He snaked his hand around her waist, pressing against her back and pulling her closer, molding himself into her body in a way that would have gotten them both re-educated had a Patrol seen.

As they danced together, she turned around in his hands, grinding her hips against his tight jeans. She could feel his response pressing against her and he leaned his head down until she could feel his hot breath on her neck. One hand was traveling down her skirt until it reached the hem, at which point it moved around to the inside of her thigh, sending waves of electricity directly up to her pelvis.

She writhed and he roamed, both of them relishing in the freedom they had only in this place, for this night. When his teeth nipped her ear, Bulma decided she’d had enough teasing. She turned around to face him and pressed her lips against his as one hand dropped down to the front of his jeans. He hissed as she squeezed his hard length, bringing a confident smile to her face. She pulled away, grabbing his hand and pulling him through the crowd. She made her way to one of the side rooms that were always found at these parties, places to defy the orders forbidding contact, forbidding sensual pleasure. They passed door after door until she found one standing open. She pushed him inside, closing and locking the door behind him.

The lock had barely clicked before he pushed her against the wall and dove into her mouth. Lips and tongues danced as sensuously as their bodies had done not a minute before. His hands stroked her bare stomach, then roamed upward and underneath her top to push the fabric up past her breasts. She moaned as he brought his head down to taste them, her own hands twining in his soft spiked black hair. Her skirt was being raised now, one hand reaching between her legs to feel the soaked cotton of her panties.

She pushed him off gently. He stood watching as she stripped off her shirt, then wriggled out of the skirt. Smiling, he followed suit with his shirt, and her breath left her as he exposed the caramel skin of his chest. He was fucking gorgeous. As his hands went to the button of his jeans, she slapped them away and grabbed onto the fabric herself. Button and zipper were soon opened, and she pushed down the jeans and boxer briefs until his cock sprang out to her hand. He threw his head back, moaning as her fingers wrapped around him. She stroked him, hand moving down to the thatch of hair at his base and back up to swirl around the tip. After only a few seconds, he’d had enough and grabbed her shoulder, spinning her around and pushing her face-first toward the wall. His hand wrapped around the soaked cotton still covering her core and pulled until the fabric tore like paper. His hand stroked her folds, one finger slipping into her eager cunt.

The feel of his rough finger inside her was maddening. She writhed on his hand until she simply couldn’t wait any longer. No games, no more buildup; she needed him inside her and she could feel he needed to be there. She reached a hand behind her and guided his cock to her entrance, bending over and pressing her other hand into the wall for support. That was all the invitation he wanted; in one quick movement he buried himself deep. She cried out in pleasure as he filled her, and she could hear an answering cry as he began to thrust.

His movements were rough, feral, hungry. She panted as she thrust herself backward to meet him, harder, faster. He bent over slightly to press his chest against her back as they moved together. One of his hands moved to the wall, covering hers and entwining with her fingers, while the other hand moved down to her core. Her gasps and whimpers came faster as the feeling of his cock thrusting viciously combined with the electric waves caused by his finger moving in circles on her clit. The satisfaction at being the cause of his guttural moans and hot breath in her ear drove her even faster towards her pleasure, and within moments lighting began to course through her body. She could feel herself tighten around him, pushing back into his cock to take him deeper, harder, faster, to ride the waves that were pulsing through her as long as she could. Her vision went white and she could hear her voice cry out from a distance as she came, harder than she ever had before. Her knees buckled, but his hand held her up as he began to thrust even faster. His breath was coming raggedly now, his movements erratic. He gave a deep shout as he gave one last punishing thrust, and she felt his cock pulse as he emptied himself into her.

They both stayed that way for a few moments, panting as they re-entered reality. He gave her neck and shoulders a few gentle kisses before pulling out of her and pulling up his jeans. She turned to face him, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him into a deeper kiss. He responded eagerly and they sank into each other before he pulled back. His coal-black eyes had softened as he looked at her naked form as though memorizing her curves, and he gave her a surprisingly shy smile that she returned.

Wordlessly, he pulled his shirt back on. He pulled her into one last kiss, one last inhale against her neck, before leaving. By the time she had regained her own clothes and got back to the dance floor, he was gone.


	2. Glow Sticks

“Twelve percent. Raise to fifteen.” Bulma didn’t move her eyes from the monitor. This was the tricky part; one false move could cause meltdown.

“Fifteen, mark,” Puar responded. “Holding steady.”

“Offput at five point five. Raise to twenty.” Bulma glanced at the monitor showing the reactor core. The cold blue glow from the fuel rods sent a shiver down her spine, but everything looked normal.

“Gotcha. Twenty, mark.”

“Offput up to eight point two. I think we can get to twenty-three.”

“If you say, so, Bulma. You know more about this stuff than I do. Twenty-three, mark.”

Bulma watched the graph rise, approach the critical point, but level off just short. “That’s gonna do it. Good job, Puar.” She smiled at her co-worker.

Puar smiled back. “Good job yourself. That was pretty much all you. Why you aren’t running this place, I can’t imagine.”

Bulma snorted. “Turns out I’m ‘too mouthy’ to have management potential.”

Puar grinned. “You have enough guts, if that’s what that means. I’m envious. I fold whenever Pilaf looks at me cross-eyed. You’re too much of a rebel for this place, that’s all.” She turned back to her screen as Bulma left the room.

 _Yeah. A rebel. If you only knew._ Poor Puar. Bulma reached into her pocket, feeling for the chip that had showed up in her locker this morning. Tonight, then. Tonight. _I wonder if he’ll be there again?_ A shiver hit her at the memory of the last party. Gods, that man…he’d made her come harder than anyone ever had before. She suppressed a smile; the last thing she needed was her nosy boss—

“Citizen Bulma! A word!” _Figures._

“Hello, Citizen Pilaf. What may I help you with today?”

Her supervisor looked like the stick up his ass was particularly pointy this morning. “Citizen, I have to state my disapproval of your interaction with Citizen Puar in the control room just now.”

“What?” she said incredulously. “We were monitoring the offput! I have to talk to Puar for that unless you’d rather the whole place explode!”

His scowl deepened. “You were being excessively friendly with _Citizen_ Puar. Such familiarity could easily be misconstrued as anti-social behavior.”

“I apologize, Citizen. I was unaware that being social is anti-social,” she scoffed.

Pilaf’s eyes narrowed. “You are verging awfully close to insubordination, Citizen. You are aware that familiarity breeds inefficiency. Such is the dictate of the Lord Protector, and you had best remember it. Understand me?”

 _Yeah, well, the fucking Lord Protector needs to get his dick sucked and fucking relax_ , she did not say. “Yes, Citizen Pilaf. I understand.”

Suddenly, the _delightful_ conversation was interrupted by a klaxon and flashing amber lights. Puar rushed out into the hallway in panic. “Bulma! The offput suddenly rose to _seventeen!”_

They all ran into the control room. The offput was well above the safe zone and rising. On the monitor, the fuel rods were incandescent as glow sticks in a pitch-black room. “I don’t know what happened,” Puar said, wringing her hands. “I swear I didn’t touch anything!”

“It’s not anything you could have done, Puar,” said Bulma as her fingers flew over the keyboard. “The suppression program is glitching badly. I’m trying to fix it, but…” Without warning, the alarm lights turned from amber to red and the warning siren changed to what Bulma always thought of as “holy shit mode”.

“Fuck! Puar, shut down the feed! Now!”

“What?” squawked Pilaf, his voice climbing with panic. “We can’t do that! It takes at least a week to restart it! Central will be without power!”

Bulma whirled to face him. “Would you rather Central fucking explode? Because that’s what’s gonna happen if we don’t _cut the goddamned feed!”_

Puar was frozen, looking between Pilaf and Bulma. Finally, Pilaf swallowed and nodded at her. Puar let out a sigh of relief, and turned to her console. A few buttons were pressed, and the glowing on the monitor began to fade, getting dimmer and dimmer until finally the fuel rods had no more luminescence than fireflies.

The rest of the day was a shitshow; Bulma suffered through meetings with inspectors and bureaucrats, interrogations by idiotic political agents who didn’t know the difference between fission and phosphorescence, and trying to keep Puar from having a nervous breakdown without becoming “too familiar” and earning the wrath of Pilaf.

As she left work, she dragged one hand down her face in frustration while the other reached in her pocket, fondling the small chip for comfort. _At least the day will end well_ , she thought. _Worst part is done._

“Halt, Citizen!” _Oh, god DAMN it._ She should have known better to tempt fate.

She turned to face the Patrol officer, assembling her features into what she hoped would pass for a modest deference. “Hello, Officer...Cui,” she said looking at his name badge. “What may I help you with today?”

The Patrol came closer. He stopped uncomfortably close, his eyes roaming over her in a disgustingly over-familiar fashion. His thick lips spread in a smile. He reached a hand out and grabbed her worksuit at the waist.

“Citizen, have you been altering your worksuit from the Officially Approved pattern?” Bulma did her best to suppress a shudder of revulsion. “It looks overly form-fitted. Almost lascivious. That is strictly forbidden, Citizen.” His hand moved upward on her body in a decidedly non-Officially Approved manner.

Bulma fought the urge to punch him in the face. _That would only get you disappeared, Bulma_ , she told herself. “The worksuit is unaltered, Officer.” She knew she should leave it there, but couldn’t help adding, “Maybe your perception is overly prurient.”

 _Fuck. Fuck. Why did I say that?_ She waited for him to pull his truncheon at her sass, but only a brief look of confusion crossed his features before he schooled them back into the norm. _Oh, thank God. He doesn’t know what ‘prurient’ means._

“Address your attire, Citizen. Temptation of others is a punishable offense.” With that, he finally turned and walked away. Bulma quickly hurried on to her destination; a basement door reachable only by a well-hidden set of steps. She knocked once, paused, then twice more. The sound of a bolt sliding followed shortly, and the door was opened by a woman with dark hair. “Bulma, thank heaven! We were starting to worry!” Bulma entered the small cellar room, poorly lit by used lamps, and furnished only by an old wooden table and chairs. The walls were well-decorated in contrast; plans and maps and schematics covered almost every inch near eye level.

“Sorry, Launch. The investigation took longer than expected.” Bulma sat down and stretched her neck. “But it’s being taken as a pure innocent programming error. And Central’s power is going to be down for at least three weeks before anyone finds the code, so they’ll have to move operations to the satellite offices. That’s going to be disruptive as balls.” She grinned in triumph.

“As long as they don’t trace it back to you, Bulma,” said Oolong nervously. He was a little bald pig of a man, and he did almost everything nervously. How he’d ever gotten up the nerve to join this little group, Bulma would never know.

“Give her a little credit. I’m sure she was careful.” Tien said, looking at her for confirmation. He had a ghost of a smile on his lips, which for the usually-serious man was practically beaming.

“No one’s going to have a clue,” Bulma smirked. “I promise you that.”

Congratulations and celebrations took up the rest of the afternoon, but soon enough the light began to fade and Bulma made her excuses. After all, she had important plans. Her fingers danced with the chip in her pocket.

That night, the music was as overwhelming as always; she longed to dive into the dance floor and wash away the day. But part of her needed something more than movement. She looked around, seeking out spiked black hair and hot coal-black eyes. But he wasn’t there. _Damn._ Bulma was more disappointed than she wanted to let on. Still, there were other men out there. Somehow that thought wasn’t as interesting as she hoped it would be.

Discouraged, she slipped onto the dance floor. The thump of the beat helped to wash away the letdown of his absence. She closed her eyes, letting the music pulse through her like blood. Her body moved on its own, impulsively and instinctively. The press of other humans, other real people who cared and felt and danced and fucked, all of it melded together to erase her consciousness, leaving only instinct to guide her motions.

Somehow she knew whose hand was laid on her hip before she opened her eyes. He had a smile on his face that mixed predatory with fulfilled; he was glad to see her. That knowledge thrilled her almost as much as the knowledge of what was going to happen next. Sure enough, he held her hand and gestured toward the suite of rooms with his head. Without hesitation, she followed as he led them through the mass of bodies.

When the door closed, he turned to her. To her surprise, instead of diving into a kiss, he spoke for the first time. “I hoped you’d be here tonight.” His voice was deep and rough, but a wave of lust shot up her spine at the purr it carried.

She smiled. “Same. I’ve been thinking about you.”

He brought his hand to her cheek and gently stroked it with the back of his fingers. Slowly, tortuously, he leaned into her lips, only brushing his own against them lightly before pulling back, then coming in for another graze. Teasing, he kissed her again and again, each time a little longer and a little deeper. 

Normally, Bulma would hate this kind of teasing, but somehow it was galvanizing; each kiss gave a small shock that had no time to fade before the next came, melding together in synergy, where each new one multiplied the intensity of the one before.

After an exquisite torture, his hand reached to the back of her head and he finally pushed himself strongly against her, his tongue reaching through her lips to dart into her mouth. She opened, pressing her body against his and her hands against his back to draw him closer.

Without breaking the kiss, he reached his hands beneath her pelvis and lifted her as though she was weightless, pushing her back against the wall. She wrapped her legs around his hips to transfer her weight; she could feel his erection straining against her through their clothes. He moaned softly and began to thrust gently against her, pressing his hardness into her and sending shocks of pleasure radiating from her stimulated clitoris.

Her hands reached down, pulling his shirt free from his waistband and lifting up. He broke the kiss only long enough to finish pulling it over his head before diving back into her. Her hands roamed his chest, tracing the hard muscles and caramel skin. She pulled briefly away to whisper. “Put me down. I want to take everything off you this time.”

He complied with a smile, kicking off his shoes to ease her work. Her hands returned to the button of his jeans, warmth spreading through her at the memory of their previous encounter. This time, she sank to her knees as she pushed them down to the floor and helped them off as he stepped out. She sat back on her feet, looking up at his deliciously naked body. His cock was jutting proudly beside her cheek, too great a temptation to ignore. Slyly, she turned her head and touched her tongue to the shaft, dragging it to the tip before engulfing the organ in her mouth. He threw his head back with a groan as she sank her head down toward his body, her tongue massaging his cock as she took as much of him as she could. One hand came to surround the root of his shaft, the other cradled the balls that had drawn taut against his body. 

She began to move her head and tongue in a gentle rhythm. His hand reached toward her head, at first making her worry he was going to press her head down onto him and make her gag. But instead, he gently ran his fingers through her hair and whispered, “Gods, yes. That feels wonderful.” His breath began to come faster and faster as she licked and sucked his cock with more force and speed. Soon, he gave a sharp grunt and pulled himself out of her mouth, holding her away and breathing deeply, obviously getting himself under control.

“Stand up,” he asked. “Take off your clothes. I want to see you.” Smiling, she stood, unzipping her dress and letting it fall to the floor. She hooked her thumbs around her panties and pulled them down. He stared as she stepped out of them, his eyes hungrily caressing every inch of her.

“You are so beautiful,” he said huskily as he reached toward her. She stepped forward into his arms, their lips meeting again. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had another person’s skin pressed against her whole body. Despite her disdain for the rules and laws of the regime, somehow this amount of contact felt utterly decadent, even sinful in the best way.

He steered her to the pile of large pillows and gently lowered her down onto them. “Tell me what you want,” he whispered in her ear.

The timbre of his rough voice gave Bulma the same lightning thrill as the touch of his hands and body on her own. “I want you in me,” she moaned. “I want you to fuck me.”

He answered with a groan of his own. “I will,” he panted. “I want to. But not yet.” He pulled back with a small grin, before he lowered his head down to her breasts. His lips closed over the tip of one while a hand found the other. Gods, his touch was impossibly stimulating. She couldn’t suppress a shout he gave the slightest bit of suction with his mouth and his tongue flicked against her nipple.

His head moved down, kissing and nibbling across her abdomen until he reached his goal between her legs. She raised her head slightly and watched as he brought fingers to his mouth and briefly sucked them before pushing them gently into her. Lowering his head, he dragged his tongue across her folds, dragging a sharp cry from her throat. He began to lap faster, his tongue circling her clit as his fingers thrust into her faster and faster. Pressure built quickly and soon she was bucking her hips into his mouth as she came.

Her eyes closed, she could feel his hot breath and silky skin slide back up her body. As the pressure of his cock pressed against her entrance, his low voice whispered into her ear.

“Tell me your name.” He almost growled the request. “I want to know who you are.”

Her eyes shot open. Her name? That was dangerous. Very dangerous. She never asked nor gave her name to anyone here—it was far safer not to know. But the look in his eyes, demanding and imploring at the same time, was too exhilarating. “Bulma. My name’s Bulma.” 

She could have refused him. She could have given him a false name. But any lingering regret at her truthfulness was erased by the sound of him rolling her name in his mouth like a fine wine. “Bulma.”

As the name left his mouth, he pressed himself slowly into her, sending waves of pleasure through her entire body. He kissed her as he began to thrust with an exquisite, agonizing leisurely pace. His tongue explored her mouth as his hands explored her body, their bodies rocking together. She rolled her hips to press against him, lifting her knees toward his shoulders to take him deeper. Her hands reached around him to grab his ass, pulling on him to encourage him as his thrusts began to increase in speed and strength. Warmth built in her pelvis, growing and spreading through her at the sound of his moans.

His pace was becoming erratic as he neared his edge. He pulled his mouth from hers and moaned. “Bulma. Gods, Bulma.” As though her name was a trigger, a shuddering climax shot through her and she screamed in pleasure. His own cry followed soon after as he spilled himself into her. They lay panting together, his cock resting inside her as they came back to earth. 

She smiled, bringing her hand to caress his cheek. “Not too bad, Anonymous.”

He gave a small laugh and smiled ruefully. “Vegeta.”

“Nice to meet you, Vegeta.” They both laughed at that; an introduction where one party had his cock inside the other was nothing if not amusing.

They rested together in silence for some time. Finally, Bulma nudged him. “Hey. The sex was amazing and all, but I came here to dance. Come on.”

He smiled, and they pulled on their clothes and headed to the dance floor.


	3. Warehouse

Bulma lay in her bed, her hand buried between her legs and her face buried in a pile of black cloth.

They’d danced, and fucked, and danced again, all night. Never before had Bulma spent an entire party with a single person, but somehow the idea of anyone else bored her to tears. He moved with the grace of an angel as they writhed together, pressed body to body driven by the beat. The beat of the music on the floor, the beat of their hearts in the rooms. He was quiet, intense—not much of a conversationalist but able to tell her worlds with the movement of his hands, the pressure of his lips.

Her fingers moved faster, circling her sensitive clit before diving briefly into her wet pussy and giving a few delicious thrusts as she thought of his thick cock entering her. Her other hand grabbed onto her breast, squeezing her nipple. She moaned, imagining it to be his teeth giving her a soft nip as he’d done that night. She turned her head deeper into the black t-shirt beside her, inhaling his scent. He’d been amused when she had grabbed it after their last fuck, and he’d quickly reached down to claim her panties, soaked with sweat and both of their fluids.

“You can have the shirt, but I’m claiming these,” he’d told her with a smirk. “They’ll be perfect to wrap around myself while I think of you.”

The idea of him stroking himself with her underwear, the mental picture of his face twisted in pleasure while his hand moved on his cock, was enough to tip her over the edge. She thrust her fingers deep into herself to sustain the electrifying feeling of her peak, pressing her face into his shirt to muffle her cries as she came, to muffle her shout of his name. “Gods, Vegeta!” It wouldn’t do to let the neighbor lady hear—she was old, and didn’t seem to care much about the laws, but it was better to be safe. The last thing she needed was a visit from the Patrol. Especially tonight.

Speaking of which...she checked her watch. It was time to go. She rolled out of her bed, stuffing the shirt back into the pillowcase of her narrow bed. A quick shower, and soon she was zipping up her Officially Approved worksuit and locking the door to her miniscule apartment. She made her way carefully back to the cellar, giving the code knock.

She was the last to arrive. Oolong, Chiaotzu, and Launch looked up from the table while Tien re-bolted the door.

“You ready for this, sweetie?” Launch asked with a toss of her black hair. “I know we’re asking a lot of you this time. But there’s too much risk in more than one person sneaking in through the tunnels, and you’re the one that knows what the best targets are going to be.”

“I’ll be fine, Launch.” Bulma bent over the plans to the manufacturing warehouse. “It’s worth the risk to get rid of the Patrol’s weapon factory, anyway.” She knew the route she needed to take backward and forward, but her fingers traced the schematic anyway. Always good to pick out a few different escape routes.

Chiaotzu pulled out a small backpack from under the table. “I’ve set the timers for five minutes from when you hit the detonation trigger. Should give you enough time to get out. I’m sorry again we can’t risk a longer-range trigger, but the signal is too easily noticed by the Patrol’s receivers.” 

“It’s fine, Chiaotzu. Sorry I haven’t been able to test my new design yet. I think it’ll work but I don’t want to risk it. Five minutes should be plenty.”

She threw the pack over her shoulder. “All right, if everything goes well, you guys will know. This’ll make a nice big boom.” She smiled at them and headed to her assignment with hugs and wishes of “good luck”.

Bulma made it to the tunnels without incident. _Getting pretty good at evading curfew_ , she bragged to herself. She squeezed into the small space that was going to take her deep into the well-secured but poorly guarded warehouse. The fact they’d found this old schematic was a miracle, but one she wasn’t about to complain about. Without the extra weaponry and ammunition stockpiled in this place, the Patrols would be a lot less trigger-happy for a while.

When she made it to her target destination, she pushed the grate out of the way and slipped into the dark building. Glare from the external spotlights leaking through the high windows was her only light, but it was plenty to see her surroundings. She scanned for her targets.

There—and there, and there. The support pillars. Take them out and the place would collapse. She quickly placed the charges, arming the detonators. 

Now, the machines. If she didn’t blow those too, they’d just get dug out and moved. She quickly launched herself up the metal stairs to the catwalks that criss-crossed the enormous manufacturing machinery. Moving as quietly as she could across the metal grating, she planted the rest of the explosives. _Now for the scary part…_

Bulma pulled out the trigger, arming it with a flick of the switch. As soon as she pushed the trigger button she _should_ have five minutes to get clear. Or, they’d blow right away and she’d be dead. She took a deep breath, and—

Suddenly, light flooded the building and a voice amplified by a speaker surrounded her. 

**“ATTENTION INTRUDER! YOU ARE IN A SECURE ZONE WITHOUT AUTHORIZATION! SURRENDER NOW AND YOU WILL BE TREATED WITH LENIENCY! FAILURE TO SURRENDER TO THE OFFICIALLY APPROVED PATROLS IS PUNISHABLE BY DEATH!”**

_FUCK!_ Panic flooded her as she saw uniformed Patrols swarming the ground floor, covering her escape route back through the tunnels. She must have tripped an alarm—there were none on the schematic, and she hadn’t noticed anything, but who knew what she’d missed.

Several Patrols were beginning to mount the steps to the catwalk; they’d be swarming her within a minute. She looked at the trigger in her hand. _What now?_ If they caught her, she’d probably still be in the building when it went off. _Who the fuck am I kidding. If they catch me, I’m dead in seconds from a bullet to the head._ And the weapons factory would still be here. Her face hardened with resolve, and her thumb mashed on the trigger. 

She was still alive. _It’s not too late. I can still get out of here._ Her mind frantically recalled the studied schematics, looking for a way out. _Right!_ She bolted to a nearby ladder that would take her to a hidden back door. She mounted to the next catwalk up, then ran toward the unguarded door.

But just as she got within distance of freedom, it vanished. Her heart sank as a Patrol stepped around a corner, directly into her path. She was too close; there was no way to hide, and nowhere to run. _I’m dead._ She stopped dead as the Patrol turned to look directly at her, gun in his hand, and the world froze.

Intense eyes, black as obsidian, went wide with shock as they met her blue ones. Part of her brain couldn’t help but notice that the Patrol uniform hugged his chest just as well as the black t-shirt hidden in her pillow.

Neither moved a centimeter for what seemed like an eternity. Then Vegeta broke the stare, his eyes flicking to the blinking light in her hand. He reached for the radio on his shoulder. “The place is mined! Evacuate! Evacuate!” 

Bulma waited for the gun in his other hand to level at her. But instead, it was thrust into its holster and he grabbed her with both hands, pulling her off the exposed catwalk and into the shadows by her exit door.

“What the FUCK are you doing here, Bulma?” he hissed at her. “No. Never mind. No time for that. You have to get out, now!” He pushed her toward the door. “No one else came this way. Take the stairs down, run to the north fence. I’m guessing you can cut a fucking chainlink?”

She nodded, but resisted his push. “What about you? The charges are going to go off soon!”

He looked at her with an unreadable expression for a few precious seconds before hauling her to him. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her with surprising passion. She barely had time to begin to melt into his arms before he pushed her away.

“I’ll be fine. Now go. GO!” Vegeta turned and ran away from her into the warehouse, speaking rapidly into his radio once more. But there was no time to watch him. No time to worry. She opened the door and hurtled down the emergency stairs. When she reached the ground, she dashed toward the north fence as he’d told her, but not the whole way; instead, she dove into the secondary entrance to the tunnels that would take her safely and secretly away, out of the area the Patrols would be hunting. As she crawled desperately toward safety, the loud _WHUMP_ of the explosives rocked through her.

 _Please be okay, Vegeta,_ she thought. She wouldn’t let herself think about the uniform. What it meant. She only repeated to herself, _Please be okay. Please be okay._


	4. House Music

For once, the thumping house music at the rave brought Bulma no comfort. Tonight, the tension in her body as she entered the hidden rave was for an entirely different reason than the usual excited anticipation. Would he be here? Would he be looking for her? Was he even alive? 

The morning after the warehouse mission, Bulma had fervently scanned the news. With a sickening feeling, she’d read that three Patrol officers had been killed by the explosion, and four others sent to the hospital. But to her extreme frustration, they hadn’t been named. Asking about the incident was basically asking to be disappeared and interrogated, so she was left in complete suspense for over a week, until finally the invite in her locker this morning gave her the possibility to see him. If he was alive. If he was okay. If he even wanted to see her again after she’d killed his fellow Patrol. Not that she regretted it—it had been necessary.

It appeared she wasn’t the only one anxious tonight. She spotted him scanning the crowd almost as soon as she got in. His dark eyes narrowed as he saw her advancing toward him and he gestured with his head for her to meet her in a side room. 

As soon as the door shut, he spun on her. “What in actual fuck do you think you’re doing, Bulma?” he growled.

Heat bloomed in her cheeks. What did _she_ think _she_ was doing? She snapped, “I _think_ I’m stopping people from getting hurt by assholes like you, apparently! Seriously? You’re a fucking _Patrol?”_

“Yeah. I am,” he growled. “I work to stop idiots from getting people killed by pulling dangerous stunts like blowing up a fucking warehouse!”

“Stop them, right. By arresting anyone who you think might ever think about doing something against Official Approval. Good job keeping people safe, _officer_.” She put as much venom as she could into the last word and felt a moment of triumph when a flicker of guilt flashed across his face.

He was angry now. “Fuck you. I’m not taking morality lessons from a gods-damned _terrorist_. I suppose it’s a pure coincidence that you work at the power plant that mysteriously shut down Central Ops because of a ‘computer bug’?”

“You ran a check on me?” Her voice rose in outrage.

“After catching you planting bombs? Hell yes, I did! And found this wasn’t your damn debut, was it? That power surge stunt crippled us for a month! Do you know how much crime went up?”

“I know that no one in my apartment building went missing that month. I know I didn’t have my uniform ‘corrected’ by some scummy bastard. I know that I could smile outside my house without worrying about being dragged into some unmarked van and never seen again!”

He opened his mouth to retort, but she didn’t give him a chance as she continued her rant. “And you! Don’t you try to pretend that you’re some great upholder of the law, Mr. Goes-To-Illegal-Parties-To-Get-His-Brains-Fucked-Out! You obviously think the purity laws are bullshit just as much as I do!

“The fucking Lord Protector and the frigid, misanthropic stick up his ass decide that sex is disgusting, and love immoral, and friendship worthless. And so we all get to be little automatons, working and sleeping and working and sleeping and anyone who tries to have the slightest bit of fun, to eke out the tiniest little crumb of enjoyment in life, gets harassed or beaten or arrested or murdered. And it’s all done by the fucking Patrols. Thank the gods they’re around to protect us from our sins! And you fucking work for them! So what, if I might paraphrase a great fucking thinker, what in actual fuck do _you_ think _you’re_ doing, Vegeta?”

His eyebrows had been furrowing throughout her speech; they practically met by the time he got the chance to speak. “Do you think I like doing that shit? That I agree with it? I have no fucking choice, okay? I joined when I was a kid to try to keep my family safe. What do you want me to do about it now, quit? Because that’s a fucking one-way ticket to getting disappeared!”

She had to admit he had a point. But she was too angry by now to give up the argument. “Don’t try to tell me you’ve never ‘disappeared’ people yourself.”

“Of course I have. I’ve also let people go. Like I did with you.” He sighed, running a hand down his face. When he spoke again, his voice had lost its anger but remained insistent. “I’m not innocent, Bulma. But neither are you. Do you think no bystanders have ever gotten caught up in your little crusade? People have died in your little escapades. People died when the power went out. People died in that warehouse.”

She looked down as remorse flooded her, but her voice stayed defiant. “Patrols died.”

There was a silence. When he spoke again, his voice seemed almost sad. “Yeah. Just Patrols. And those guys are nothing but monsters.”

She raised her eyes to meet his. He appeared to be looking for something in her face. She wasn’t sure what to say, but she wanted to do something, to assure him that she didn’t think him a monster. “Did...did you know them?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Frankly, we’re all better off Cui’s dead, and Sorbet was a complete ass-kisser who would kill a puppy if it got him a commendation. But Lemo was a decent guy. Close to retiring.”

“I’m sorry.” She really was, to her surprise. He nodded in acknowledgement. “I don’t want to hurt anyone. But I was fourteen when they took my mother for ‘anti-social behavior.’ And I’ve lost so many more people since. I have to do something to stop this madness. The fucking Lord Protector is insane, and his ‘reforms’ are impossible. I can’t sit around and do nothing.” For the first time, she was glad that makeup was outlawed or her mascara would be running by now.

He stepped forward, pulled her into his arms. She gratefully leaned into his chest, uncaring now about what he wore over it outside of this place. His voice rumbled in the ear pressed against him. “I know. Neither can I. I hate every second I spend in that fucking uniform.” They stayed that way for some time, until she finally brought herself under control and pulled back to look at him. He stroked her cheek and whispered. “So. What do we do now?”

The question was unanswerable. What could they do other than what each was already doing? Bulma was a roiling mass of defiance and remorse and sadness and joy. Instead of trying to tame it, put it all into words, she leaned forward and kissed him. His response was immediate, wrapping his arms tighter and leaning into her lips with all he had. They kissed to tell each other everything words couldn’t; all the pain and frustration and desire made forbidden flowed from each of them as their lips and tongues met, as their hands began to roam across each other, finding the edges of clothes and diving beneath, lifting away. 

Almost before she realized it she’d stripped herself naked and leaned her body into his, skin sliding against skin with a desperate need. He picked her up, carried her to the bed in the corner, lay her down gently without breaking contact with her mouth for even a second. His cock was insistent against her thigh, and she reached down to invite him inside.

Their coupling was not the fulfillment of carnal need as their first had been; neither was it the playful flirting of their second meeting. This time, as he slid into her slick cunt, they joined with a burning need to find each other; not only their bodies but their whole selves. To connect, to explain, to show each other who they truly were and what they truly wanted.

She met each thrust of his cock with a roll of her hips, spreading her legs as wide as she could to welcome him in. He sat up, grabbing one leg and resting it on his shoulder to drive himself deeper into her. Despite the loss of his lips on hers and his body against her skin, she moaned with pleasure at the change of angle. She watched his beautiful face as he watched her, their eyes burning into each other as they moved against each other, trying to merge and entwine as deeply as possible. 

She began to feel the burning in her body as his rhythm hit a sweet spot inside her. He noticed her increased pants, her small moans, and reached his hand down to her clit to encourage her. His rough fingers swirled against her, and soon she was crying out in pleasure as she unraveled beneath his hand.

As she came down from her peak, he began to slow his own pace. He moved her leg back down to the bed, then grabbed her hips and in one smooth motion flipped them over so he was on his back and she was above him. She smiled and bent to give him a deep but gentle kiss. He looked so vulnerable, so unshielded, that a deep instinctive need to protect him bloomed in her. She couldn’t hurt this man. She knew that as much as she knew herself. 

Slowly, gently, she began to rock above him. She lifted herself off his cock just enough so only the very tip remained, then sank down to engulf him in her warmth. He closed his eyes with a moan, encouraging her to do it again and again. She kept her pace slow but steady, trying to give him as much pleasure as she could produce, unwilling to allow this to come to an end. He was nearly whimpering with her motions, his face filled with an ecstasy that made her feel like a goddess.

“Please, Bulma,” he whispered. “Faster. I need you to go faster.” The entreaty in his voice was impossible to deny. She sped up the tempo of her rocking, thrusting him deeper and deeper inside her as she went, watching his face as he slowly broke apart. He grabbed her hips and pulled her down into a final thrust as he called her name, his cock pulsing with the strength of his orgasm as he shot himself deep inside her. He gave a few more thrusts as the aftershocks echoed through him, before he relaxed and let go. She leaned down to rest herself on his chest, holding him inside of her for as long as she could.

They lay together for a long time. Bulma could feel his heart pounding, matching the strength of her own. His hand was tracing patterns on the skin of her bare back. 

“What do we do now?” She had to whisper, afraid speaking out loud would somehow break the delicate thing they had just made together.

“I don’t know.” He spoke just as quietly, with a hesitation she’d never heard from him before. “This is dangerous.”

“Yeah. I guess it is. Do you want me to go?” She made no move to pull away, but he tightened his arm around her anyway.

“No.”

She nuzzled her face into his chest. “Maybe we can get out someday. Go north, cross over to Z country. I hear they are pretty welcoming to people trying to escape.”

He laughed without humor. “Yeah. That’s a nice thought. Impossible, but a nice thought. Do you have any idea how tight that border is?”

She sighed. “Yes. I know exactly how tight that border is.” She’d studied the security details more times than she could count. Hoping someday she’d find a way. But the perimeter was more heavily secured than anything she’d seen.

He leaned down, kissed the top of her head. “Maybe before our great escape I can see you sometimes?”

She raised her head to look into his face. “You know what would happen to you if you got caught with a terrorist.”

He smirked ruefully. “I know what would happen if I got caught with anyone. I also know how to be careful, Bulma. And I know you do too.”

There was nothing more to say with words.


	5. Body Shots

Bulma’s hands flew over the keys of her console. She’d altered its signature; if they managed to find the code they’d trace it to a disused terminal in a shuttered factory across the city. She entered the strings of commands into the plant’s computer core, weaving a thread of treachery into its instructions. Tonight, after everyone had gone home, the computer would tell the plant to shoot an enormous surge of power to the factory’s main boiler; it would massively overload the capacity of the ancient circuit she knew was running the show, and the boiler’s enormous metal body would explode, spraying burning oil everywhere and likely burning the factory to the ground. 

The factory hadn’t been on their radar at first. It was supposed to be making simple tools, things used by maintenance virtually everywhere in the city. But he’d told her that was just a cover—the place was actually a manufactory for the tools used in Central’s hidden cells, where people were taken for interrogation, or punishment, or sometimes just simple sadistic torture.

Every little bit helps.

* * *

His skin was slick with sweat against her back, the sheets tangled around their knees. Her thighs clenched as she pushed her body back with her hands against the bed, forcing his cock deeper inside her. His hands tightened on her hips as her actions forced a shout from his lips.

“Fuck. Sorry,” he whispered. 

She turned her head to look at him. “It’s probably okay. Not many people live on this floor, and the guy downstairs works nights.”

He shot her a smirking grin. “Is that so?” He roughly pulled her back against him at a new angle, causing her to raise a hand to her mouth to muffle her own cry.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “It seems like you’re looking for trouble, buster.” She swirled her hips and grinned with satisfaction when his jaw clenched to keep himself from moaning again.

“Oh, that’s it.” His hand slid up to her nipple, giving it a firm pinch and forcing out a yelp that she quickly cut off. “You should know, I’m pretty competitive.” His smug chuckle was nothing if not a challenge, impossible to turn down.

In the end, they both won.

* * *

Vegeta nervously entered the briefing room; he’d been told he was being put on “special assignment” which was usually bad news. The last time he’d been put on “special assignment” he’d spent the next month in the cells, trying not to vomit as he was forced to beat suspected dissidents into a bloody pulp while Zarbon interrogated them. He’d showered at least three times daily during that assignment but had never quite felt clean.

This time it seemed he wasn’t the only one; at least a dozen Patrols were present. He sat down next to a short, slimy little fuck by the name of Guldo. “What’s going on?”

Guldo shrugged. “Don’t know. But if I had to guess, it has something to do with the fire last night.”

Ice shot down his spine, spread through his body like blood. The fire at the factory. If they’d figured out it wasn’t accidental—

The room stood as a tall man wearing Captain’s stripes entered. He flicked his long Officially Approved ponytail over his shoulder as he got to the front of the room. “You can all sit down.”

Captain Zarbon pulled up a schematic of the city before turning to them and speaking. “As you all ought to be aware, for the last year and a half we’ve been facing a run of terrorist attacks by antisocial criminals that we have so far been unable to identify. These attacks have targeted critical assets of the Lord Protector and the Patrols. Including the warehouse bombing last month that killed several fine officers.” Vegeta made sure to salute with the rest of the group as they bowed their heads in respect. “We have reason to believe that several apparent ‘accidents’ are the result of sabotage by the same group. Catching these reprobates is now our first priority. You’ve all been assigned to the task force to investigate and interrogate as needed. Stop them or the Lord Protector will be most displeased. That is all.” They stood again as the Captain left the room.

_Well. Shit._

* * *

The music seeped through the thin walls, along with the sounds of other people finding each other in the rooms beside theirs. Tonight they paid no mind, simply holding their bare skins together and trading tales of loss. Her mother, disappeared. His father, shot in the uprising. The lawless period. His brother, stabbed for the money in his pocket. Her father wasting away, his home and work destroyed, his daughter forced to live separately, the cancer eating his body from the inside. His mother, choosing the freedom of flight for the seconds it took to reach the ground. Her favorite teacher. His best friend. A cousin. An uncle. A neighbor. A friend. One by one by one, stripped away until nothing was left, until they were alone.

Not anymore.

* * *

Her new design was working great. Affixed to Chiaotzu’s explosives, the relays could be triggered up to a quarter mile away, and there was no interference from Patrol frequencies to disrupt transmission.

“Got all of mine. How about you, Launch?” Bulma whispered. 

“Last one.” Launch wriggled her body out from underneath the prisoner transfer vehicle and brushed back a strand of the blonde wig she insisted on wearing for missions. She said it was her lucky charm; if it gave her confidence then Bulma wasn’t going to argue.

“Great job. Let’s get the hell away from here.”

The two women snuck out of the back gate they’d entered from and made their way through the dark streets. When Bulma judged they were far enough, she pressed the trigger and was rewarded with the rumble of Patrol vehicles exploding in balls of flame.

Launch looked at her, eyes shining. “Good work! I can’t believe you managed to hack Patrol systems and get the gate code. We’ve been wanting a shot at disabling that motor pool for ages!”

Bulma shrugged. Close enough to the truth.

* * *

“Fuck you!”

 _WHAP!_ He gasped with pleasure as the hand struck his cheek. “That wasn’t very nice.” She bent down and ran her tongue over the red mark where she’d made contact, soothing the sting. The moan he made was her reward; it shot a pulse of heat straight into her pelvis and she ground it against the thigh she straddled.

“Want to try that again?” Her voice was light and teasing as she looked down at his naked body. His hands rattled as he pulled against the handcuffs attached to his iron bed frame. He was looking at her with a mixture of desire and fear, and the power she felt at that moment was enough to get her halfway there already.

She placed her hand in the middle of his chest, then slowly trailed her fingers down his torso. She lingered on every scar, every ridge and crease of his muscle, taking her time as he writhed helplessly beneath her. By the time she reached his rigid shaft, it was straining, pulsing as his muscles twitched involuntarily with every touch. She ran two fingers up to the tip and smiled as he shuddered in pleasure. Slowly, she moved her leg across him until her wet entrance was hovering just above his eager cock and looked up to meet his wide obsidian eyes.

“Tell me what you want,” she breathed. She rolled her hips just brushed the sensitive tip and he whimpered.

“You know what I want,” he rasped.

“I said, _tell me_ what you want.”

He closed his eyes, lowered his head back to the bed. “Gods damn you, woman.”

“Tell me, or you get nothing.”

He spoke so quietly she could barely hear him. “I want you to ride me.”

“What was that, Vegeta? I couldn’t hear you,” she smirked.

“I said, fuck me. I need to be inside you.”

Smiling, she shifted to grind her wet flesh against him. “Then say please.”

“No.” 

She unstraddled him, grabbed his leg, threw it over her shoulder to lift his ass cheek in the air. _WHAP!_ That one had enough force to cause him to actually hiss in pain. She gave him no time to recover before she brought her palm down again. _WHAP!_ And again: _WHAP!_ His skin was turning a beautiful shade of pink, matching the flush on his face as he cried out. “Fuck! Please! Please!”

“Please what?”

“Please, ride my cock. Please, Bulma,” he begged her.

She rubbed the tender skin before lowering his leg. “Good boy.”

She lowered her hips and gave him what he’d asked so nicely for.

* * *

“Officer Vegeta!”

His spine stiffened at the sound of the Captain’s guttural voice. He turned to face her, bringing his fist to his chest in salute and freezing his expression so as not to show the disgust he felt in her presence. It wasn’t Captain Dodoria’s enormous body that bothered him; it was that it came from ration coupons she stole from the people her subordinates arrested or shot. It was her gleeful excuse of the indisputable fact that they wouldn’t be needing them anymore, and it was the fact that not once had he known her to distribute the coupons to anyone else, even when the city was on short rations and they were all half-crazy from hunger.

“I’m missing your report on the stolen trucks. They were hauling explosive materiel and the Lord Protector’s not going to like it if that shit gets used to blow up something important.”

“I apologize for my tardiness, Captain. I have just submitted the report to Captain Zarbon.”

Dodoria sneered. “And did you actually find out anything _useful_ this time? I swear I don’t know why Zarbon picked you for the damn task force.”

Vegeta knew better than to respond to that. He kept his salute at his chest and waited to be dismissed.

“Get down to cellblock 18,” the Captain said with disgust. “Jeice has a particularly recalcitrant prisoner he needs help interrogating.” Vegeta sighed inwardly. 

Time to get his hands dirty again.

* * *

“Fuck! Oh, f-fuck, Bulma!” She felt a throb in her pelvis at the cry. His deep voice calling her name always got her wet. Her tongue kept its rhythm on his cock as her finger pressed deep inside him to stroke his prostate.

He’d managed to find an abandoned hotel somewhere on the outskirts of the city. The Patrols never came here; there was nothing but rats and raccoons once the last of the homeless that used to camp here were removed. It was dusty, the skeletal body of the bedframe squeaked horribly, and the mattress springs were completely shot, but they could be as loud as they wanted here.

“Stop! Stop or I’m going to come.” He was attempting to stay in control, to give her orders. He liked that. But her mouth and fingers worked together to undo him so instead his words came in a pleading whimper.

She pulled her mouth off. “What do you think I’m going for, bad man?” She was teasing, challenging him in the way that drove him crazy. “I want to taste your come. So get ready to give it.” With the last word, she plunged her mouth back down on him while curling her fingers inside him. 

And with a shout, he did exactly what she asked.

* * *

“Twenty percent.” Puar’s voice was quiet today.

“Offput stable at eight percent. Let’s keep her there.” Bulma turned and smiled. “Nice job, Puar.”

There was a flicker of a smile, but Puar quickly forced it off. “I think we’re done. I have other duties to get to.” She turned her body back to the monitor.

A pang of guilt shot through Bulma’s chest. Puar had been like this for a week, ever since she’d been pulled into Pilaf’s office and kept there for an hour. It had been Bulma’s fault—they’d been talking after monitoring the offput, and it had grown into a full conversation with smiling and laughter. They’d both been loud, but it had been Puar whose laugh had made it into Pilaf’s office, and so it had been Puar who had been given the Official Reprimand.

Another loss.

* * *

Shower usage was not monitored. Hot water was plentiful in her building. It was the one luxury she was allowed. And so she didn’t worry about the time they were spending.

They sat together on the shower floor, her body wrapped against his back as water poured down on them, holding him as sobs shot through his chest. She stroked his hair, drew the washcloth across his body to wash off the spots of dried blood, kissed the split skin on his knuckles, told him it was all right, that everything would be all right.

As the wave ebbed and he curled himself against her, closing his eyes, a memory came back to her and she began to hum, softly, a song her mother had taught her.

* * *

The factory was dark, which was just how she liked it. Quietly, she made her way toward the control room where the computer that controlled the manufacturing line waited for her. Her hand reached into her pocket, pulling out the chip that she’d loaded with malicious code. If she’d done it right, the virus would begin causing small but regular mishaps; things that would cause the machinery to introduce flaws in the weapons, causing them to be useless. 

She slowly crept her way up, when she stopped suddenly. Something was off. She couldn’t pinpoint what it was, but her heart was racing. This didn’t feel right.

Bulma was smart enough to realize that the so-called “gut feeling” was often the reaction of a conscious brain to subconscious sensory information. The human brain was one of the best pattern-recognizing computers that has ever existed, and disruptions to expected patterns triggered these kinds of responses. Ignoring them was utterly foolish.

Her hand tightened on the chip. The computer here was off-grid; the virus couldn’t be introduced any other way. But as important as disabling the factory was, every cell in her body was screaming danger, telling her to get the hell out of there. She turned, retreating toward her entry point.

Suddenly, chips of brick exploded next to her a split-second before she heard the bark of the gun. _Fuck!_ She broke into a run, throwing a glimpse over her shoulder at the Patrols who had been sitting hidden in the factory office.

Head down, fists pumping, she sprinted for the door, praying that there was only the one squad. The guns kept firing shot after shot, and just as she got to the door, an impact slammed into her side and she went sprawling on the floor. _Gods, please let me just get out of here_ , she silently pled. Ignoring the pressure in her side, she pushed herself back to her feet and ran outside. Someone must have been listening. No one was outside. She bolted to the fence, dove through the hole she’d cut, and sprinted into the shadows of the surrounding buildings. Sirens were quickly approaching as the Patrols inside relayed the intrusion.

She allowed herself a quick glance downward, then wished she hadn’t. The side of her jumpsuit was soaked with dark red blood. She pulled down the zipper and pulled the top part off her arms; being seen without a suit was no worse than being seen with one covered in blood if the Patrols spotted her, and she could use the fabric to press against the hole in her side. She needed to get off the street, and both her apartment and the basement hideout were too far. Even if she wasn't spotted—not something she’d bet on in her current state—she’d probably end up collapsing from pain and shock before she got there. There was only one place she knew that she might be able to reach without having the Patrol called on her when she arrived.

If he wasn’t in the search behind her, that was.

* * *

The smile on his face when he opened the door fell apart when he saw the state she was in. “Fuck! What—never mind.” He grabbed her, pulled her inside, shut and bolted the door.

Bulma was beginning to feel woozy, and Vegeta’s voice arrived at her ears covered in cotton. She vaguely heard him peppering her with questions, but she was too tired to answer. The next thing she knew, she was laying down on a bed. He was above her, doing something to her side. He looked angry. Angrier than usual. Still cute. She wanted to kiss him, but she was too tired. Maybe after a nap. She sank into the darkness.

Sunlight on her face woke her. Sunlight and a hideous throbbing pain in her left side. A groan of pain escaped her lips. 

His face appeared above hers. He wasn’t angry anymore. “Hey. Welcome back.” His voice was a little shaky, as was the hand he brought up to stroke her cheek.

“Ugh. How long was I down?” He helped her up to a sitting position, handing her a mug of something sweet and hot. 

“Not too long. Couple hours. It wasn’t much more than a graze. Here, take these.” He handed her a pair of white tablets. “They’ll help with the pain.”

She swallowed them, then leaned her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes. His arms wrapped around her, and she relaxed into the safety they provided her. “I’m sorry. I put you in danger. I just...I didn’t know where else to go.”

He was quiet, his hand stroking her hair comfortingly. “It’s okay,” he finally said. “Better you risk coming to me than risk dying.” He pulled her off him to look into her eyes.

“I heard the radio chatter. You were fucking lucky to make it out of there. And fucking lucky nothing major got hit. You took a hell of a body shot.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Fuck, Bulma. You scared the shit out of me. You need to be more careful if you’re going to keep…” He trailed off, unwilling to blatantly acknowledge her free-time activities.

“I thought I was being careful. We’d studied the Patrol activity and when they cover each building. No one was supposed to be there last night, so I don’t know why they were.”

He looked troubled. “I checked the schedule. No one _was_ supposed to be there. It wasn’t on any radar. The squad was sent at the last minute, only about half an hour before they caught you.”

Half an hour? That didn’t make sense. If the guard rotation had been changed, they would have been sent to the area at the beginning of the night. Maybe she was spotted on the way? But in that case, how would anyone know where she was headed?

“Hey,” he said, bringing her back from her thoughts. “I’ll look into this, okay? But you need to rest. Do you need to call in sick?” 

She shook her head. “Day off.”

He laughed. “Me too. Lucky us.” 

She leaned into him, brushing her lips against his. “Thank you.” The one kiss didn’t seem enough. She pressed forward, stronger this time, and lingered. He returned it, his hand reaching up to the back of her head.

Neither seemed willing to break the contact. The kiss continued, deepened. Something shifted, and it was no longer a matter of companionship and relief. Now it was full of desire, full of need. His hand dropped from her head down to her back, pressing her closer against him. Her own hand found his knee, moved upward stroking his firm thigh, until it reached his hardening cock pressing half-mast through his sweatpants. The half became full as she squeezed it gently, and he gasped around her lips. He tightened his grip, leaning her backward toward the bed.

She groaned in pain as her wound reminded her of its presence. He immediately pulled away. “Oh, gods. I’m sorry. Fuck!” He lay her back down on the bed, gently this time, and checking the bandage to make sure it hadn’t started bleeding again. 

“It’s okay. It’s not that bad.” She chuckled despite the throb in her side. “Figures we’d have a day off and a private bed and be unable to take advantage.” She yawned; even this small amount of excitement was apparently enough to tire out her wounded system.

He laughed gently. “Sleep, Bulma. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

As she drifted off, the last thought she had was how much she wanted to hear that every day.


	6. No Pants and a Missing Shoe

“So, we’re in agreement.” Tien looked at each of them searchingly, his hands flat on the table where the plans lay. “We know this is going to be dangerous, but I think with the intel that Oolong got his hands on, we can do it without too much risk.”

Bulma looked around the table. Launch, in her blonde wig, looked exhilarated; Chiaotzu looked nervous but resolved; Oolong looked almost sick with worry. Bulma internally scoffed at his lack of guts.

Not that she was totally happy with this plan. She wasn’t scared, exactly—although she had no wish to get shot again—and it was a good plan on an important target. _But does it have to be **this** target?_

Central Patrol Operations.

The place where all the decisions were made that led to innocents being disappeared. The place where dissidents and anti-social Citizens were taken for interrogation and torture and “re-education” and death. Taking the building out would disrupt them for ages. Throw them into utter chaos.

Possibly disrupt border control. Possibly let people get out. And possibly kill the man she loved.

Fuck! Why did she have to have this revelation now? It couldn’t change anything. She couldn’t let it change anything. This mission was too important. It could reshape so much for everyone. So what if it might destroy her? She was only one person.

“I’m sorry to spring this on you all at the last minute,” Tien continued. “I’ve been drafting plans for this for a while but didn’t think we’d ever have the chance to use them. But tonight, they are moving all prisoners to satellite locations to do structural maintenance. That means we can attack without killing innocents. In addition, we have word that most of the top brass are having a strategy session and will be on site. And—” he paused to draw out the suspense, to maximize the impact of his next revelation. “We have reason to believe the Lord Protector himself may attend.”

Bulma’s gasp mixed with the others’. The Lord Protector? They had the chance to take out the sexless little tyrant himself? Bulma’s heart somehow leapt and sank simultaneously. There was no way to turn down an opportunity like this.

“All right. You all know your roles. Meet at the rendezvous 7 pm sharp. And let’s all be careful, okay? No change in routines, nothing that might catch attention. This is a high-risk, high-reward operation; we all accept that, but let’s not add to the risk and lessen the possible reward, okay?”

Bulma nodded out her lie. She couldn’t avoid one risk. She had to tell one person. Just one person. Because if he was in there when it blew…

Blinking away the threatening tears, she considered how best to reach him. She couldn’t go to his apartment; he wouldn’t be home today. He was working. That was the whole problem, wasn’t it? Which meant there was only one way to tell him in time. She turned her steps toward Central Patrol.

She wasn’t stupid, of course. She couldn’t simply waltz in the front door and ask for Vegeta unless she wanted both of them interrogated. But she was used to hiding and watching by now. He’d come out eventually. She hoped.

She waited half an hour, an hour. Two. Still no Vegeta. _Gods damn the man. Come out. Please, just come out._

“What can I do for you today, Citizen?” The sudden voice behind her nearly made her scream in shock. She whipped around with relief. ”Ve—” 

Her voice froze in her throat. The Patrol in front of her was tall, slim, almost willowy. His long hair, pulled into an Officially Approved ponytail and tucked into his cap, set off the strange beauty of his olive complexion.

“Officer. What—what can I do for you today?” The adrenaline in her blood was shutting down her higher brain functions. She couldn’t allow that. She needed to think. And fast.

“It’s Captain. And I believe I asked you first?” His smooth voice carried no doubt of the threat behind his words. “What are you doing here, Citizen?”

“I—I only...I wanted to…” Nothing was coming. She was dead.

“Captain Zarbon, Sir. Captain Dodoria has requested your help.” She could have cried with relief, hearing that voice. The Captain turned toward Vegeta, who stood at full attention, his fist on his chest in salute.

Zarbon, as his name seemed to be, scowled at Vegeta. “Can’t you see I’m busy with this Citizen, Officer?”

“Yes, sir. Captain Dodoria was quite insistent, sir.”

Zarbon sighed. “Fine. Deal with this one, Officer. She seems to be lost.” He gave her one last look up and down, his eyes narrowed with suspicion, then stalked out of the alleyway.

Bulma finally remembered how to breathe, but her relief only lasted a moment before Vegeta grabbed her arm and practically threw her deeper into the alley. “Are you FUCKING insane?” he hissed. “Do you have any idea what almost just happened to you?”

She was shaking with the fear that was finally safe to show. Her eyes welled up with tears, her breath came in ragged gasps. “O-of course I know.” His face relaxed slightly from the fury he’d greeted her with, confronted with her distress. “I had to come, Vegeta. I had to find you.”

“Why? What could possibly be worth this risk?” He shook her. “Answer me!”

She couldn’t speak; her voice was shaking too much. Instead, she grabbed him and pulled herself against him. Burying her face into his chest, she took a few deep breaths. His scent was calming. Her breathing slowed.

“Bulma.” His deep voice was tender as he curled his arms around her shaking form. “Please. What is going on?”

She pulled back, looking into his dark eyes. “You have to leave. The station, I mean. You have to leave here by eight o’clock tonight. Please, promise me you won’t be here.”

His eyes widened, and his jaw muscles jumped as he grit his teeth. “What are you planning, woman?” he asked in a low voice. The temperature had fallen by a good ten degrees. “Why do I need to leave tonight?”

She looked away, unable to bring words to her lips. He pressed on. “Please tell me you aren’t actually thinking of attacking here. Because that would be about the stupidest gods-damned thing I have ever heard. Do you have any idea what you’d be getting into?” He grabbed both her shoulders and gave her a shake strong enough to rock her head back and forth. “DO YOU?”

Abruptly her fear was transformed into pure anger. “Of course I know! Do you think I’m stupid? Do you think I haven’t been doing this for _years_?” She shook him off. “We have a plan, and we have a chance, and we are going to take it. I shouldn’t even be here, but I decided to risk my life to come and tell you so you could get the fuck out of the way, because I fucking love you, asshole, and I don’t want you to be hurt!”

Silence fell between them as her declaration hit them both simultaneously. His face was confusion, his mouth working helplessly, trying to form unknown words. 

The sound from a passing Patrol vehicle broke the spell and he let go of her. “Get out of here, Bulma,” he ordered angrily.

“Vegeta, I-”

“Gods damn it, woman, get away before I have to arrest you!” 

She could barely breathe. She didn’t expect him to respond, exactly, but to have him react like this? She turned away sharply to take off down the alley.

Before she could move, her upper arm was seized in an iron grip, and she was spun around. Before she knew what was happening, his hot mouth was on hers. His arms wrapped around her, holding her tighter than she could have imagined. She lifted to the sky on the feel of his body pressed against hers, absurdly hoping she’d never have to come down again. Her heart echoed the hammering inside of his chest as it pressed against hers. Blasts of hot breath brushed her cheek from his exhales, gasped out around the kiss he was thrusting into her.

After a hundred years of bliss, he abruptly pulled away. He ran his fingers through his spiked hair, taking a deep breath and shaking his head as though getting rid of a dream. “Get out of here. Please.”

“Will you stay away tonight?” she asked him desperately.

He looked at her, his eyes filled with unspoken words. Saying nothing, he turned and strode out of the alley.

* * *

They had somehow made it all the way inside, using the stolen schematics they’d been studying that afternoon. Tien hit the radio. “Oolong, any movement?”

“Nothing from here. Everything seems quiet on the streets.”

“Tell us if anything strange happens. Tien out.” He gestured to move them forward.

Launch brushed her thumb on the chip she carried, projecting the uploaded schematic. “Almost there. When we get in, spread out. Bulma and I will head to the computer core to corrupt their records. Tien, you and Chiaotzu will want to head left to get to the central support. Take that out and we collapse the building.”

Slowly, Launch pushed open the door, looking carefully around the dark hallway. “Clear. Let’s go.” Bulma followed her to the right as Tien and Chiaotzu broke left.

The two women made their way carefully to their destination. Launch slotted the chip into the autolock, and with a thunk the bolt withdrew. “Okay, Bulma. Time to shine.”

Bulma stepped into the room. The glowing lights from the computer core were almost beautiful in the darkness. She blinked as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, scanning to find the entry console where she could work her magic.

Without warning, bright spotlights were thrown in her face, blinding her entirely. “Well, what have we here?” asked a slimy voice. Familiar. Bulma flashed back to the alleyway; a ponytail, olive skin.

Bulma suddenly felt herself being pulled backward. Launch had grabbed her and thrown her out the door. The woman’s weapon had materialized in her hand and barked its strength toward the waiting Patrols. “Run! It’s an ambush!” Bulma didn’t hesitate to follow her friend’s orders. The two of them bolted down the hall, the drumbeats of Patrol boots on their heels.

“Launch!” Bulma screamed as something slammed into her friend’s back, propelling her to the floor. Her blonde wig fell off as she landed; Bulma watched in horror as the growing pool of dark liquid reached it, dyeing it scarlet. Her eyes were wide and sightless.

There was no time to stop. No time to mourn, to hold her hand as the spark in her eyes faded and her breath slowed to a stop. Bulma sobbed as she ran, desperate to get away. The Patrols seemed unconcerned by her flight; she heard their boots moving slowly and falling behind.

Turning a corner, she found Chiaotzu. He was kneeling next to Tien’s still body, holding a dead hand to his lips. His tiny body was convulsing in sobs as she raced to him.

“Come on, Chiaotzu. We have to go. Now.” She could barely speak, but they were going to be nothing if they didn’t leave, right this instant.

The small man looked up at her. Idly, Bulma noted he had somehow lost a shoe. Dully, he said, “No. No, we won’t make it, Bulma. They have all the exits blocked. Tien and I tried-” A sob ripped through his throat. 

Bulma looked frantically around. There had to be something! She wasn’t going to die here. Not like this. She gasped as she saw it. An air vent, its cover already skewed from a missing bolt. She grabbed Chiaotzu’s shoulder, pointed. “We can get out through that! We’re both small enough to fit! Come on!” She dragged Chiaotzu to it and began to work the remaining bolts out until she got the cover off. “You first. Go!” She pushed him toward the opening.

But Chiaotzu shook her hand off. “No. No, Bulma. They’re coming. They’ll see exactly where we went and cut us off.” His voice was flat, dead. “You can make it. You can keep this going. Find new people. Keep the intel we’ve found alive. It’s yours now.”

Bulma’s eyes widened. “No. I’m not going without you. Don’t ask me to.”

He turned to her, his pale face devoid of expression. “You still have something to live for, Bulma. Go. I’ll take as many with me as I can.” He pulled his jacket open, revealing the blinking lights of the triggers strapped to the explosives on his waist.

“Please, Chiaotzu. Don’t do this,” she begged.

“Go now, Bulma. Or both of us die.” He raised his hand. Almost in slow motion, his thumb pressed down on the dead man’s trigger. “I’ll wait as long as I can. Go now.”

A sob shuddered through her. She threw her arms around him, spent at least five precious seconds holding him tight. “Goodbye. And thank you for everything,” she whispered. Letting go and crawling into the air vent might have been the hardest thing she’d ever done.

The vent was small, but she pushed herself through. Her heart sank as she turned a corner and saw the vent ended. Wait, no. Not ended. Turned. The horizontal vent came to a junction with a vertical one. There were two ways to go. Down meant further into the building. Up meant out.

Bracing her feet on either side of the vertical shaft, Bulma slowly climbed her way upward. She’d not gotten far when the sound of the blast hit her. The shockwave made her feet slip a few inches, and the wave of heat singed her skin. She held in a sob. _Chiaotzu._

Slowly, painfully, she inched her way upward, keeping her eyes locked on the grate that signified freedom. Beyond it, she could see the night sky. One foot, then the other. Pressure on either side, keeping her from slipping. Her calf muscles were trembling from the effort. She wondered if they’d cramp up before she reached the grate and cause her to fall who knows how far.

When she finally grasped the metal bars, she nearly cried in relief. She pushed with the last of her strength. Thank the gods, the grate was not bolted; it slid easily aside and she was able to crawl desperately and throw herself onto the flat roof.

She lay there, her legs aching with effort and her chest aching with grief. _Launch. Tien. Chiaotzu._ Dead. All dead.

The Patrols had known.

The truth of it hit her like a sledgehammer. The Patrols hadn’t simply happened across them accidentally. Her team hadn’t slipped up and alerted the guards. They’d been caught with their pants down—hell, they’d been caught with their pants missing entirely—because the Patrol had been _waiting_ for them. They knew. The Patrol knew they were coming.

They knew, because someone had told them.

Bulma screwed up her face, a shriek ripping out of her throat as she realized the truth. Someone had told the Patrol there was going to be an attack tonight. Someone had betrayed them and cost her friends their lives.

And that someone was her.


	7. Bathroom Quickie

There was nowhere for her to go.

The fact that she’d even gotten off the building was a miracle. She had managed the jump from the roof of Central Ops to a neighboring building, only because of the courage given by the knowledge that if she fell she would be no more dead than if they found her. She’d tried to find Oolong at his watch post, but it was empty. A small spray of dark liquid droplets had covered the wall.

They must know who she was by now. They had seen her, they would have cameras everywhere, they would have run her face through recognition. Her apartment would be watched. Her work was out of the question. They’d have ID’d Tien by now too, so his basement apartment would be covered with Patrols. And her only other sanctuary…

She doubled up as a sob hit her. Vegeta. No one else had known they were attacking. There was no other way they could have planned the ambush. Gods, she’d trusted him. She’d trusted him with her life and he’d ended it.  _How stupid am I? Trusting a fucking Patrol? I’m supposed to be the smart one._

She allowed herself to break down for a moment before pulling herself back together. Deep breaths. Think. Think. Where was she? She forced herself to notice landmarks, to lay them onto the map in her head. There must be something—

Her eyes widened. Yes. There was a place. Not far, and she could probably break in. She just had to forget the last time she’d been there. Two blips north, then a left.

She reached the small, nondescript green door without incident; only once had she had to freeze in place as a patrol went by. Without a chip, she couldn’t get in quite as easily; still, she had her tools tucked carefully into her worksuit and made short work of the reader. The empty club felt cold, lifeless, dead. She avoided looking at the room where they’d spent that first night, instead grabbing a few pillows and blankets from the other rooms and piling them in the smallest, most enclosed room in the place. She needed the safety of walls around her, even if the bathroom wasn’t the most pleasant place to sleep. Curling up in a dark corner, she sank into guilt, sobbing until she fell fast asleep.

She was roused from sleep by the sound of her name. “Bulma?” Her eyes flew open, and there he was. The fucking Patrol. The traitorous asshole who’d just tried to kill her. Standing there at the bathroom door in his uniform with his piercing black eyes boring into her. 

“You bastard!!” The scream ripped out of her throat, and she launched herself at him, fists curled. 

“Wait! Wait!” He grabbed at her wrists desperately, trying to keep her off him. “Bulma, listen—” He broke off with a cry of pain as her workboot connected with his shin.

“I trusted you!” She sobbed in frustration and pain. “I fucking trusted you, and you killed my friends. You killed them! Why? Why did you—” Her voice broke and she collapsed in a sob.

He pulled her against him, wrapped his arms around her. She had lost the strength to push away, so she simply sobbed into him. “I hate you. I fucking hate you.”

“Bulma, it wasn’t me. I swear to you. I didn’t say a word to anyone. It wasn’t me.” He let go of her, bringing his hands to her face and tilting it to make her look at him. “Please believe me. I would never—” He broke off as his voice cracked. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I would never risk hurting you, Bulma.”

Gods, she wanted to believe him. “If it wasn’t you, then who? Who told them we were coming?”

He ran his fingers through his spiked black hair, shook his head. “I don’t know. I wasn’t told about it until afterward.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “But after—I heard them talking about a source. I think—” He looked at her, his face troubled. “I think someone with you is a mole. I think someone with you turned on you.”

Bulma shook her head. “Impossible. I’ve known them all for years. They all believe in what we are doing. As much as me, if not more.” She wouldn’t believe that one of them could have done this. She couldn’t.

But gods, she couldn’t think of any other explanation. If it wasn’t him—and she didn’t want it to be him—but who? They were all dead. She grabbed his face, stared into his eyes. “Tell me it wasn’t you. Tell me you didn’t say a word. Even accidentally. Tell me you didn’t do anything that would have made them suspicious.”

He looked at her steadily. She saw a hint of moisture in the corners of his eyes, but his gaze didn’t flicker as he said, “I didn’t do or say anything. Not a word. I swear to you, Bulma.”

She believed him. She had to believe him. Leaning her head into his shoulder she let all the grief and anger out in a wave of sobbing. Everything else dissolved, leaving only him, and her pain. She clutched to him as though he was the only thing in the world, like if she let go she’d be swept away into nothingness, but he wrapped his arms around her and held on. 

He let her cry for what seemed like days before she managed to pull herself together. She wiped her eyes and nose on her sleeve and took a few shuddering breaths. “I don’t know what to do.” Her voice felt small, helpless, and she hated it. “They know who I am, don’t they? I can’t go home. What do I do now?”

His hand stroking her hair and the rumble of his voice in his chest were comforting. “They’ve identified you, yes. It’s not safe in the city for you anymore. We’ll have to get out.”

She pulled back, looking into his dark eyes. “We?” she whispered hopefully as she raised her hand to his cheek. Did he mean that?

“Yes, we.” He kissed her gently, carefully, trying to make sure she wasn’t going to break if he did. She leaned into him, needing his touch. This is what she needed. She needed someone to share this pain with her, someone who could take some of her burden. She pressed in harder, her hands moving to his waist. As she began to pull his shirt out of his waistband, he broke off, pulled away.

He looked at her, surprise and concern painted on his face. “Bulma. Are you sure that’s what you want?”

“Yes. Is it okay?” Her red-rimmed eyes must be hideous, she realized. Maybe it was too much for him. But her worries were erased with his next words.

“Of course it’s okay. I just don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to take advantage—” She shut him up with her lips.

“Be quiet and touch me. Please.” Her whispered plea unleashed him, and he wrapped his strong arms around her waist, pulled her against him. Her hands returned to his shirt, pulling it upward hurriedly so her hands could touch his skin. His own hands moved to the buttons of his uniform, stripping them off quickly one by one and together they stripped the hated cloth from his chest. Her mouth went down to meet the newly exposed skin, her tongue exploring every inch she could reach. It was salty and sweet, delicious and intoxicating, and every second she tasted him the more she needed.

His breath was coming faster as his hands moved to the zipper of her suit, pulling it down. He swore as it caught, and he pushed her up to standing, grabbed one hand at the top of it, and yanked the tab as hard as he could. The zipper parted all the way down, and he grabbed either side of the worksuit and in one motion stripped it off her down to the knees. Impatiently he pulled off the thin camisole that was beneath it, and his mouth eagerly sought the newly-bared breasts he’d exposed. She gasped as his tongue swirled around her nipple, while his rough hands skimmed down the side of her body to hook into her panties and push them downward.

She kicked off her boots and stepped out of her remaining clothes as his hand moved between her legs. As he slipped a finger, then two, into her slick warmth, she arched her back and pushed into his hand. “Gods, yes. Please, Vegeta. Touch me.” She began to unbuckle his pants, her hand diving in to find him hot and hard.

His mouth continued caressing her breasts, his fingers moved in and out of her, curling and stroking every part of her sex. She mewled as his mouth began to move downward until it reached the place his fingers were working, and his tongue dived in to join them. He licked and sucked every part he could reach, as though by devouring her he could erase her pain. She leaned into the cold tile wall and threw one of her legs over his shoulder to give him free access as the pressure and pleasure built with every stroke of his hot mouth. Her loud cry of pleasure ripped from her; no attempt to quiet or muffle the noise was possible.

He stood and rejoined her mouth, his hands moving to her ass. He lifted and spread her thighs, and without hesitation thrust his hard cock into her waiting heat. His own cry was as loud as hers had been, as though he’d been starving for air and the feel of her cunt surrounding him was an open window. The smooth tiles slid against the bare skin of her back as he thrust into her harder, faster, more desperately than ever before. His mouth moved to the spot behind her ear and moved down to where her neck met her shoulder. 

She dug her nails across his back as another wave of pleasure built itself to a peak. The feeling of her tightening drove another rabid growl from him and he bit down on her shoulder as his arms tightened to hold on to her. He drove himself into her once, twice more, shooting himself deep inside her with a desperate shout. 

Her legs were trembling as he gave a few more languid strokes while his breath evened out. He wrapped his arms tightly around her as he lowered her legs back to the floor. She tightened her own arms, neither of them willing to allow the smallest space between their bodies. The only sounds in the small bathroom were the rasp of their breaths, the beat of their hearts.

“I’ll keep you safe,” he finally murmured softly against her neck. “I swear it. I won’t let anyone hurt you. I’m going to get you out. Somehow.”


	8. Party Pills

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: There is some minor reference to past and threatened sexual abuse in this chapter.

Bulma ducked into the alley as the Patrol hovercar passed. There were more out tonight than usual, which was not surprising considering the circumstances. The Patrol had identified a cell of wanted terrorists, after all, and were conducting a massive manhunt for the remaining members. All two of them.

She and Vegeta had spent all night and most of the next day making plans. He’d managed to swipe a chip containing security protocols for the Patrol squads on the border, and they had brainstormed a million ways to get through. At the end, they had decided they’d have to simply brute force at the weakest point—a minor shipping outpost with only a few Patrols unused to incursions. She knew where Chiaotzu had left a cache of explosives, and Vegeta was well-equipped with weapons smuggled from the Patrol depot. They’d be missed, of course. Soon, and there was no real way to hide who’d taken them. He was in this as deep as she was, now. They were in this together.

But he’d had one further surprise for her, a very happy one. She wasn’t the only survivor of the horrible raid on Patrol Central Ops. According to Vegeta, Oolong had been spotted and fired at, but not apprehended. He was still on the loose, though of course was being sought after as intensely as she was.

“I have to find him,” she’d told Vegeta. “We’ll bring him with us north.”

He’d shaken his head. “More people is more danger, Bulma. It’s better if we do this alone.”

But she’d been insistent. “Oolong is my friend. The only one I have left. I won’t leave him here to be killed or worse.” He’d given in, especially when she told him Oolong could drive a hovercar under fire.

So here she was, making her way to a place he might be hidden—a small sewer line that led to a tiny disused utility room. Uncomfortable, but warm and safe. She found the opening and squeezed in, ignoring the smell of decomposing leaves from the storm sewer. She quietly moved toward the room. Someone was there for sure; a soft red light was coming from the opening, and she could hear movement. She smiled as she heard a smack and a soft curse. Oolong, bumping into something. She hurried around the corner, only to pull up short.

“YEEEEK!” Oolong’s squeal of terror greeted her and a gun was shoved into her face.

“Oolong! Don’t shoot me! It’s Bulma!” The little man jumped, squealed again, but did not pull the trigger. Bulma let go of her breath.

“Bulma! Oh gods, you scared me. But you’re alive!” She allowed a brief hug before pulling away. “What about the others? Tien? Launch? Chiaotzu?” His face fell sharply when she shook her head, unable to speak the words.

“But I’m okay. And I’m getting out of here, going north.”

“Getting out—Bulma, you can’t! We’ve thought about it, of course—”

“But we never had help from the Patrol itself.” Bulma smiled at his widening eyes. “I have a—a friend. A Patrol. He’s gotten us schedules, weapons, transportation. We’ve made a plan and I think it’s going to work. And we want you to come with us.”

Oolong pulled out a piece of cloth from a small satchel on his shoulder and wiped sweat from his forehead skittishly. “You have a Patrol with you? How do you know he’s not on their side?”

Bulma shook her head. “I know he isn’t. He’s been helping me for a while. I trust him, completely.”

He seemed lost in thought, and reached into his satchel. “Hmm. A Patrol. What’s his name?” he asked almost greedily.

She looked up sharply at the tone in his voice. “Why do you want to know that?” she asked warily.

His eyes were wide. He never had been a very good liar when asked directly. “N—no reason. I only figured if we’re going to be working together…” He trailed off, then sighed.

“Oh, Bulma. I wish you hadn’t come here.” The gun in his hand was raised again, pointing directly at her heart. “You weren’t supposed to make it out of the building. You were supposed to get a nice easy ending.”

Her blood had been drained, sucked from her veins and arteries and replaced by liquid nitrogen that was freezing and burning every cell of her body. “You.” she whispered. “You told them. You’re why they all died.” 

He frowned. “You act like I did something awful, Bulma. And maybe I did, in a way. But you have to know they would have gotten us eventually.” He was pleading with her, as though he were the one betrayed. The whine in his voice churned her stomach and she fought the urge to vomit. He’d probably shoot her if she moved that much. “This way, no one had to get taken to the cells. No one got interrogated. Everyone died easy.”

Bulma choked back a sob. _Easy?_ She remembered the blood seeping out of Launch’s body. The dead look in Chiaotzu’s eyes as he held Tien’s hand. The hot blast of the explosion. _Easy._ She spoke with a strange calm as she stared at the _thing_ in front of her through a lens of tears. “You little fuck. Did they catch you and promise you freedom? Or did you go to them? What did they promise you?” Heat rose in her voice. “Did they promise you money? A good job? What did you trade your soul for, Oolong?”

Involuntarily, his eyes dropped down to her legs and crawled upward. She suddenly felt filthy, like she’d been dipped in sewage. “Oh. That’s what they promised.” Her voice carried all the loathing and disgust she was feeling, and he flinched.

“You don’t understand. You were young when they took over, Bulma. I wasn’t. I could get what I needed back then. A wad of cash, a few pills. But I can’t now.” He sounded more and more like a slimy pig with each wheedling plea. “There’s nowhere I can go to find some. They don’t let me in the parties anymore.” Gods, he said that like she should feel _sorry_ for him.

She was beginning to wonder how much longer she’d be able to keep herself from taking a swing at him, gun or no, when she was distracted by the approaching voices, the sound of splashing and stomping feet. “Over here!” Oolong yelled, looking toward the sound and dropping the barrel of the gun slightly.

Bulma took the chance. She threw herself at the man, grabbing his wrist and the gun with her hands, while her knee came up to finally give him the touch he had murdered her friends for. A little harder than he’d probably hoped. He doubled over, retching. She pulled the gun from his hands, turned it on him. She had no chance of escape. No way to run. No time to think. But she could do one thing at the last.

“Too bad,” she said, her voice shaking. “No reward for you. But don’t worry, I’ll make this _easy_.” She spat the final word as her finger squeezed the trigger. His last sound was a high squeal as he fell to the dirty ground. A split second later, her world exploded in pain and darkness.

* * *

It was the shooting pains in her shoulders that woke her. Her arms were behind her as she slumped forward. She was sitting on something hard but moving; it had been a jolt that had sent the bolt of pain through her. She pulled her arms forward to ease the strain, only to have them stopped after a mere few centimeters.

She shook her head, trying to make sense of what was happening. She was able to feel the tight clasp on her wrists behind her now, and when she squeezed her eyes open with a groan to see her surroundings, everything fell into place. She was sitting on the metal bench of a prisoner transport vehicle, her wrists handcuffed fast to the wall behind her. The vehicle swayed with its movement as it took her closer and closer to her death. She had no doubt of that. It was simply a question of what she’d have to get through first.

“Well, our little mouse seems to be awake, Dodoria. Isn’t that nice?” The voice seemed strangely familiar. She turned her head, flinching from the throb of pain it elicited. 

To her left sat a Patrol, tall and willowy with olive skin and a long ponytail. It managed to bring a dark smile to her face, despite everything. “Well. Captain. What can I do for you today?” she rasped out with a sarcastic chuckle.

“Hmm. You remember me. How very nice.” Gods, his voice was smooth instead of whining, but underneath it was the same slime she’d just put an end to in the sewer. “I would have thought you’d be in our dungeon by now. How did you manage to get away from my officer, pray tell?” 

“I turned into a frog and hopped away into a storm drain,” she said with a mocking smile.

“Ooh. This one thinks she’s funny, Dodoria.” The Captain looked across to an enormously obese woman with extremely flushed skin.

The woman snorted. “Well, that’s nice. We’ll have some entertainment down in the interrogation room tonight, if she keeps it up.”

The olive-skinned one put a hand on her leg. “Oh, I think we’ll have some entertainment regardless.” He shot her a shark’s smile as she yanked her knee from under his hand. 

“Gods, Zarbon. Is that all you ever think about? You’re practically anti-social with your disgusting obsession.”

“What the Lord Protector doesn’t know won’t hurt me, Dodoria,” he said with a smirk. To Bulma’s relief, he laced his hands behind his head and leaned back against the transport wall.

Despite the cold ball of fear that was making a deep pit out of her stomach, Bulma couldn’t help a loud laugh. “Figures that the noble Patrol is just as pathetic at getting laid as Oolong.” Her confident mocking voice drew the gaze of both of her jailers.

“Watch your mouth, girlie.” The man—Zarbon—snarled at her. “I would have a little more care with my words if I were you.” His voice was dark with threat.

She pushed on with a derisive grin. “If you were me, you wouldn’t have to force prisoners in order to get laid, sweetheart.”

The obese woman gave a short guffaw. “She’s got that one on you, Zarbon.”

He smoothed his features, gave a superior smile. “Well. She has a mouth on her. Don’t worry, we’ll put that to good use, darling.” She snarled as he grabbed her chin with one hand and laid the other hand on her thigh, moving it upward.

The pain in her arms suddenly hit again as the transport rocked to a sudden stop. “What the hell?” Zarbon pushed the intercom to the driver’s cab. “What’s going on up there? Why are we stopped?”

“We got flagged down. Looks like there’s an officer in trouble ahead.”

Dodoria sighed. “Probably some pathetic idiot who can’t change a damn coil by themselves.” She heaved herself up and opened the back. “I’ll take care of it.”

Bulma waited, hoping the distraction would last and the Patrol captain wouldn’t remember she was there. She was so focused on whether his hand was going to return to her thigh that she didn’t even register the sharp, loud sounds from outside at first.

“What the—Dodoria? Were those gunshots?” Zarbon drew the weapon from his hip, kneeling at the door. “Dodoria?”

“Yeah, Captain. They were gunshots.” Vegeta, his eyes sharp as obsidian shards, swung around the transport door. His leveled weapon barked twice, and the captain slumped to the ground.

“Ve—Vegeta! Oh gods, Vegeta!” She practically wept with relief as he crawled into the transport to search Zarbon’s corpse for the keys. He reached behind her to unlock her wrists, putting him in the perfect position for her to throw her newly-freed arms around her. She couldn’t stop trembling as he returned her embrace. 

Too soon, he pulled away. “We have to go. Now. We don’t have any more buffer. They’ll know this was me, and they’ll raise hell as soon as they can’t reach the transport. Come on.”

She began to follow, then paused. “Hang on.” She knelt by the corpse, her hands diving into his pockets. _Where...aha!_ She pulled out a chip. “This will have ID codes. High-level. I can use these.” She pocketed the chip, grabbed the captain’s fallen gun, and jumped out of the transport after him.

“Come on, my vehicle is right—” That was as far as he got when the explosion hit. They were both thrown to the ground.

“Freeze, you traitorous fuck!” The driver of the transport leaned against the vehicle, blood running from where Vegeta had shot him. The barrel of his weapon was trained directly on them, and the pin of the impact grenade still hung in his other hand. His voice was wrapped in cotton, barely overcoming the ringing in her ears. “You’re not going anywhere.”

She struggled to sit, as the ringing slowly turned into wailing sirens. Backup was coming. Be here soon. They had to go. Vegeta—where was Vegeta? Turning her head, she saw him on one knee next to her.

“Bulma, listen to me.” His voice was pitched low, and he didn’t look at her. “On my word, you get yourself behind the transport and run. My hovercar is half a block east. Zarbon’s chip will get you in and get it started. The plan will still work. You’re smart, talented, brave. You can do it alone.”

Bands of fear wrapped her chest and squeezed. “No. No, I’m not leaving you. I won’t. Don’t ask me to.”

He turned his head just enough to meet her eyes. “They’ll be here in seconds. You have to go now or we’re both dead. Please.” His voice shook the slightest bit. “I can get through it, if I know you’re safe. I just need you to be safe. Do this one last thing for me.” His eyes took her in, memorizing her one final time. “Now GO!” 

With that, he launched himself forward at the officer. She scrambled to her feet and ran, turning around the back of the transport and sprinting east as fast as she could. Her breath was coming in sobs and gasps, her eyes were burning, but she kept going. For him. She didn’t even stop when she heard the weapon fire once, twice, then fall silent.


	9. Police Raid

She drove the Patrol car he’d stashed, as fast and as far as she could. The radio was turned on and off and on again as her need to know what happened clashed with her fear of finding out the worst. In the end it didn’t matter. She still didn’t know if he was alive or dead. All she heard was that there were officers down, and a suspect apprehended. When they began laughing and making bets as to whether he was still alive, and whether he’d remain so during transport to Central, she snapped the radio off with a scream of rage and pulled the hovercar into the nearest dark corner to fall apart. 

An eternity later, she began to come back to her body. Her eyes were burning from the salt of her tears, her throat from the shrieks of pain that had torn themselves free. She was utterly spent. She wanted nothing more than to crawl into the backseat and sleep, but she forced herself to think. She couldn’t afford any more time to deal with this. She had to act.

_The plan will still work. You’re smart, talented, brave. You can do it alone. I can get through it, if I know you’re safe. I just need you to be safe. Do this one last thing for me._

It was the last thing he’d said to her. Go to the border. Fight through the weak point. Make it out. Get to Z country. Be free. Live.

It’s what he wanted. It was a request she couldn’t fill. Never in a million years would she forgive herself if she left him now. But what could she do? She was alone. Completely alone. Wanted. Hunted. Scared. Hopeless. Helpless.

Helpless? Something inside her stirred at that thought. A spark of anger began to burn through the deep blanket of darkness muffling her soul. _No. Fuck that. I may be down, but I’m not helpless. I’ll never be helpless._

Her hand reached into her pocket, feeling for the chip she’d taken from the Patrol captain’s body. But something else brushed her hand. Another chip. She pulled it out, looked at it.

From that night. The night they’d tried to take down Central. The chip they’d prepared for her to hit the computer core. The one that would hijack the Central computer, leave a worm and erase all their data. A spark of an idea began to form.

* * *

_So this is what it feels like_ , he thought. He’d been on the other side of this enough times. He’d been on it only a few days ago. To be honest, it wasn’t as bad as he’d thought. His knees hurt from the hard concrete of the floor, and his shoulders ached as they were pulled apart by the chains stuck to either wall. But nothing worse than he’d felt before.

“Where’s the woman, Vegeta? Heard she was a real beauty, but I have to say I’m skeptical. After all, the difference between a joke and a pretty girl is that sometimes Vegeta gets a joke.” The asshole snickered. He’d always fucking hated Jeice. The worst combination of smarmy and cruel. Always making the absolute dumbest goddamn cracks in the middle of crippling someone. Fucker thought he was funny. “What’d you do with her?”

“I shot her.” Vegeta did his best to laugh. “You did mean Dodoria, right? She’s about your type.”

Jeice shook his head before slamming into his face with a fist. Vegeta felt his cheekbone crack. “Cute. Very cute. You know who I mean, bastard. Where is she?”

“I don’t know who you mean.” That earned him a gut shot.

“Try again. How long have you been working for them? She’s the one that got away when those idiots thought they could hit us, right? Did you let her in that night? Because if so,” Jeice paused to chuckle. “If so, well fucking done. Led them right into an ambush. Bet she loved that one. You know, I never trusted you. Neither did Zarbon, which is why we never told you about that idiotic fuck who was passing us info.”

“Gods. Am I going to have to hear you bitch all night, or can we skip to the point where you put a bullet in my head?” Part of him was trying to piss off Jeice just for the fun of it, and part of him was trying to hurry along the inevitable. It was pointless, though. They weren’t going to let him off that easy.

Jeice was almost certainly only the warm-up. After helping the terrorists? After killing some of their own? Even the Patrols who loathed Zarbon and Dodoria couldn’t let that one go. No, he wasn’t going to get a quick death, no matter how he antagonized Jeice or anyone else. They were going to make sure he lasted. They were going to want to take their sweet time.

Oh well. Didn’t matter. Because she was gone. Free. Jeice would never give up the opportunity to rub her capture in his face if they’d caught her. A small smile curled his lips.

“A smile, Vegeta? You’re in the mood to laugh, then. Good. I’ve got a lot of spare time tonight. I’m happy to laugh along with you.” That’s when Jeice really got started.

* * *

If there was one thing she knew about the Patrols, it was their fucking arrogance. So powerful, no one could possibly stand against them. Anyone who tried was dead, they thought. And it had seemed to be earned.

But the arrogance meant that they didn’t bother analyzing the last attack. They didn’t bother figuring out how they’d all gotten in. Or maybe they knew, but they didn’t bother securing it. She wouldn’t have believed they were so fucking dumb, except that she’d just used the same damn way in.

She moved like a mouse, silent and small. But the computer core basically ran itself; almost no one came up here. Unless they were tipped off, of course. She swallowed a sob. This wasn’t the time.

Her heart began to pound at the sight of the door. The entrance to the core. The place where it had all gone wrong. Her eyes scanned the hallway, looking for the place Launch had died. It was unmarked, of course. They’d cleaned up the blood. Bulma closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and continued down the hall to the door.

The entry code would have been changed, so she couldn’t use the original chip to get in the way they had the first time. But she had something else now. She slotted her new prize. The scanner turned green and she heard the thunk of the bolt retracting. _Thank you, Captain Zarbon_ , she thought as she slipped inside and made her way to the core.

It was so easy. She was almost disappointed that this simple task, this tiny little thing, was what killed her friends. Her modified program slipped its electronic claws delicately into the brains of the building. Now. She had...maybe ten minutes. Time for step two.

* * *

They’d stopped, for a while. Vegeta could at least tell that. It had been a while since pain had been a sharp shock rather than a burning throb. That was how he could tell when someone came in, by the quality of the pain.

The rough concrete of the floor had seemed rough at first, but now the coolness of it was soothing. There was no part of him that wasn’t in pain, but a few places kept nagging at him. Something dug into his lungs when he breathed in. His right leg was screaming at him insistently. And something in his head rattled disturbingly when he moved it too quickly.

The pain had moved from unpleasant to excruciating as the evening had progressed, and then somehow faded again as eventually he couldn’t keep up with the new beatings. It was as though it were all happening to someone else. He could still feel them, of course. But he couldn’t quite bring himself to care. They’d end. Eventually. Someone would go a little too hard, or in the wrong spot, and it would be done. He only had to wait.

The small part of his brain that was still capable of caring about anything had grabbed onto his lifeline. They still were asking him where she was. What she was planning. Where she was going. That meant they still hadn’t found her. She was still safe. 

The door was scraping open again. He didn’t bother looking up. It didn’t matter who it was this time. It didn’t matter what they did. It only mattered what they asked.

“Let’s try this again, Vegeta. Where is she?” As the boot met his ribs, he managed a smile.

* * *

This hadn’t been on the schematics, she thought ruefully. She’d discovered the vertical shaft, the one she’d used to escape, in pure desperation. But she’d had time to think and plot it against the building plans and she had realized where it led. This goddamned shaft was a highway straight into the heart of Central. Right to the cells.

Bulma re-fastened the shaft cover and began to lower herself slowly. She couldn’t risk securing herself without giving herself away, which meant that she had to get it just right or this would all be over very, very quickly. The rubber soles of her shoes, and the rubber palms on her gloves, slowed her descent against the smooth metal as she moved down the ventilation shaft. It was faster than trying to climb up, but by the time she reached the bottom her legs were shaking and nearing collapse. She checked her watch; she had time enough for a short rest. Only a short one.

The timing had to be almost perfect if she wanted to pull this off. She checked again. Almost. She peeked out of the exit grate of the ventilation shaft, scanning what little was in her field of vision. A few tires, and the feet of two or three Patrols. The vent led into a small garage area—this was where prisoner transports pulled in to empty their cargo. Not pick it up, though. People didn’t leave when they got here.

As silently as possible, she loosened the bolts to the grate. As soon as her distraction hit, she had to be ready to go. Putting her tools back in her bag, she pulled out a small pistol. There were bound to be at least one or two guards left in the cells, though if she was lucky most of them would be drawn by the distraction that was going to be hitting any second now. Any—

*BOOM* That was it. The first of the salvaged explosives had blown on the upper floor. The pounding of running feet passed her hiding place. “The fuck was that?” one of them screamed.

She waited one more minute. Give them time to clear. She checked her watch. _Now._ She kicked the grate out and tumbled into the hall in a smooth movement, bringing her gun to bear on the transport garage in front of her. She swept over the cars, moved quick and low to check between them. Empty. Good.

On her feet now. Move quickly. The cells were ahead. He’d be in one of them, if he wasn’t in the morgue by now. She shook her head to clear the thought. _No. He’s here. He’s here._

Ducking by the door to the cellblock, she pulled her pistol to the ready. A deep breath to calm her nerves. She’d only have one try here. As she swung herself into the doorframe, she leveled her pistol at the one remaining guard. He was looking toward where the explosion had been, and with two short squeezes she put him down. Almost there. She checked her watch one more time. Yes. Three, two, one, and—

The code in the worm she’d planted did its job, as all the lights on the locks went green at once. All except the one at the hallway entrance, which turned a bright red. They were locked out, and the cells were open. Now if she could only find him.

She went through, kicking open each door. Most were empty, the bloodstains on their floor at various states of fading. In a few, her entrance was greeted by a face filled with fear that quickly turned to confusion. “Get out. Go that way until you come to the cars and wait.” She couldn’t stop to see if they obeyed. She had to find him.

The door at the end of the hall reverberated with the pounding of Patrol fists and batons. Useless. They were specifically designed to withstand everything up to and including the explosives she had planted above them. But someone was going to be smart enough to try a bypass, and while her code was good, it was necessarily sloppy and it wouldn’t withstand a dedicated talent. Time was running out.

As she flung open the next cell, she gasped in horror. He lay on the cement floor, his face and bare chest a mass of blood and bruises. His black hair was matted, and she could barely make out the rise and fall of his chest. She threw herself to his side. 

“Vegeta? Wake up. We have to go now. Please. Wake up.” She couldn’t suppress the note of panic in her voice. She patted his face softly, trying to rouse him.

To her relief, his eyes fluttered open as far as they could with the swelling in his face. But his eyes were unfocused, empty. To her horror, she saw his pupils were uneven. The left was wide, unable to dilate with the light. She quickly ran her eyes and fingers across his head, a sob escaping when she found an enormous divot in the left side of his skull. _Those bastards. Those fucking bastards._

“Vegeta. I need you to wake up. I can’t move you by myself. Please.” Her heart sank as his eyes closed again, but he began to push himself off the floor. Unintelligible words spilled from him as he struggled to rise. Together, they got him to his feet, though she was struggling to hold most of his weight. He whimpered with every step; his irregular gait made her think his leg must be broken. But he kept going, holding on to her with every bit of his remaining strength. “Come on. You can do it. We’re getting out. Hold on. Just hold on.”

The pounding of the door had stopped. Not a good sign. She reached into her pocket. It was too early for this, but she had to buy time. She had to buy time. Giving a prayer to whoever might be listening, she pressed down on the trigger.

Floors above her, the last of the explosives went with a shuddering boom strong enough to shake debris from the ceiling all the way down here. The computer core was gone. So were several of the support pillars. It wouldn’t be enough to crumble the building, but it would take a chunk. And it would distract the Patrols. Kill many outright. If only it didn’t kill them too. She tried to speed their pace, but Vegeta’s strength was failing fast. They were so close. She could see the open door to the transports when he gave a mumble and sank to the floor, pulling her down with his weight. “No! No, please, Vegeta! We’re so close. Please. Only a little more.” But he was gone, fallen into the darkness of unconsciousness. 

She wrapped him in her arms. So. It had been a good try. She’d done her best. It was just a bit short. Just a little bit short. It ended here after all.

Her eyes opened as the weight of his body was lifted from her, and she looked into the eyes of a stranger. One of the prisoners. He wasn’t young, and one of his arms was cradled protectively against his body, but the other had reached under Vegeta’s shoulder and was lifting. On the other side of her, a woman with a bruised face was grabbing the other. “Whoever you are, I think we need to go now,” she said with a hint of amusement. “I hope you have a plan for the rest of this.”

Bulma gave a sob of relief and struggled to her feet. The three of them managed to drag him to the garage and into the back of a prisoner transport. There was already another prisoner inside, a young man conscious but panting in pain.

She ran to the driver’s seat, pulling out Zarbon’s chip to start the engine. The ceiling of the garage was beginning to crack. They had to move, now. The woman hopped in beside her.

“Everyone in?” Bulma checked the back, then pressed the accelerator. They made it through the open garage door as a rumble from behind them met her ears. Whether or not it was the sub-basement collapsing, she would probably never know.

* * *

The night had no moon. The darkness surrounded them like velvet, the calm of the warm summer air somehow dissonant against the terror the rest of the night had held. Bulma had the driver’s window of the transport open now that they were out of the city lights and in the emptiness of the highway north. The woman prisoner—Lazuli, she said her name was—was in the passenger seat leaning against the other window, snoring softly. Bulma didn’t blame her. She’d had a hell of a day.

The man—Korin—had done what he could to get Vegeta and the other injured man comfortable, and was watching them, his arm wrapped in a makeshift splint. “I’ll let you know if he wakes up,” he’d said. “Or if he...starts sinking.” His face had not been particularly comforting. Bulma knew why. Head wounds could go very wrong, very fast. She checked the mirror one more time, trying to reassure herself Vegeta was still breathing. 

They had about two hours to go before they reached the border crossing. If Bulma had coded everything correctly, the stolen chip would tell the outpost that she was an Officially Approved shipping vehicle, sent to pick up some of the very few goods exchanged with the not-yet-declared-as-an-enemy country to the north. If they were lucky, the border guards wouldn’t want to inspect the back of the vehicle, wouldn’t find out that it was carrying injured fugitives rather than boxes of cargo. If they were lucky, the destruction at Central would be throwing everything into chaos and distraction and the guards would barely look at them. If they were lucky, this transport hadn’t been listed as missing, and they’d all be presumed dead in the explosions. If they weren’t lucky...well. They had guns. At least two of the people in this transport could probably use them. Her hands tightened on the wheel.

The plan would still work. She was smart. Talented. Brave. They would make it through. They would be safe. She would make it happen. For him. For them.

She let the wind brush her hair from her face as the transport continued through the silent moonless night.


	10. Epilogue

Bulma turned on the television. The President of Z Country was about to have a press conference and she didn’t want to miss it.

The screen showed a tall man, with spiky black hair and a genial expression. The reporters surrounding him were already talking over each other to shoot questions at him. One made it through:

“We have reports that the regime to the south is, quote, ‘in a state of utter chaos.’ Do you have any confirmation of this?”

The man gave a short laugh. “I’ll just say things are a little different down there than we’re used to. But I’m gonna let the President handle the whole report. Here she is now, so I’m gonna get off the stage.”

The First Gentleman stepped back as a small, dark-haired woman approached the podium. “Thank you all for coming today. I’m sure you all have a lot of questions regarding the report you just heard from the military. I’ll open it up to you all now.”

The President of Z country was peppered with questions, which she answered gracefully. Bulma waited impatiently for the ones she knew were coming.

“Some people have said that the events to the south shouldn’t be our problem. Do you agree with that? Or do you think we should continue the policy of ‘Open Arms’ towards refugees?”

“Oh, absolutely the second. It’s not right to allow people to live in that kind of oppression. Anyone who disagrees is free to run against me, but as long as I'm President we will continue welcoming anyone fleeing that oppressive regime. We stand for freedom here, and I plan to keep it that way.”

“Madam President, is it true that some of the recent refugees have triggered the latest shift in our efforts against the South?”

“Yes. It is true. In the last few months we’ve recently welcomed several important defectors, primarily due to the weakened border which, we believe, is due to destruction of their central control operations. The new arrivals have already provided critical support that’s helped us protect ourselves against incursions from their Patrol forces, and allowed infiltration of our own people to help those who wish to leave.”

The press conference continued, but Bulma had seen what she’d waited for. She turned off the television with satisfaction, then stood and walked to the small balcony of their apartment. The breeze was soft and warm, bringing just a hint of the smell of the ocean. Below, the street was busy with cars and people. So many people, walking and talking. Friends laughing at each other’s jokes. Lovers walking arm in arm. She closed her eyes, letting the sound of voices wash over her.

A pair of strong arms wrapped across her chest, and a warm body pressed against her. Vegeta laid a small kiss on her neck, then looked at the TV and back questioningly.

“Yeah, it was just on. It’s exciting to be mentioned by the President herself. Not by name, of course, but still.” She turned to face him. “And you? How did it go?” 

He nodded with a small smile. “Good.” The word came out with difficulty. “Want me...train. Tac—tac—” He broke off, shaking his head.

She smiled. “They want you to train them on the Patrol’s tactics?”

He nodded. “Mm. When…” He sighed in frustration, his hand tapping the side of his head. 

She reached up, running her fingers along the fuzz that was finally beginning to grow back over a surprisingly small scar where the enormous dent had been. The surgeons had done a good job restoring his shattered skull, but the damage underneath was not fixed so easily. 

“It will heal, I promise. The doctors say you’re making good progress. You’re already speaking a lot better than you were even last month.”

He shook his head ruefully. “Hard still.”

“I know. It’s okay.” She leaned forward to kiss him, inhaling the smell of musk and sweat that she adored.

He pulled back, smiling. “Doctor...this morning?” One hand moved down to her lower abdomen, cupping the slight curve that was beginning to appear.

“She said everything is perfect. No worries at all.” Her heart leapt at the joy shining in his eyes as he moved back into her lips. Her hands reached under his shirt to skim his slim waist. He leaned into her hungrily, his hands moving down her back to hold her hips. She broke off just long enough to say, “And I don’t have anything else planned all day, so…”

His response was immediate. A smile spreading over his face, he lifted her up and carried her laughing to their bedroom. He laid her on their bed—impossibly large, it seemed—and laid himself on top of her. She could feel his insistent need pressing against her as he greedily sought her mouth with his own. In a whirlwind their clothes were stripped off, so quickly it was impossible to tell who took off what.

She revelled in the feel of his skin sliding against hers, his hands skimming down her body. His mouth roamed as though trying to taste every inch of her, lingering on the tips of her breasts as she gasped in pleasure. “Come back,” she whispered. “Kiss me.” 

He happily complied, returning his mouth to hers. She reached down to guide him to her, crying out as he accepted her invitation. He filled her in one motion, giving a moan in his deep voice that rang through her whole body. Their hips fit into each other perfectly as he pressed his hand against her back, pulling her closer and molding himself into her body. They moved together in an easy rhythm, dancing as they had the night they’d met. As pressure built, his wordless moans merged with her own. He bent toward her ear, and let slip a word, one that came with no hesitation.

“Love.”

Their cries were loud. She made no effort to muffle them, despite the open window, the crowds below. 

They were free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it! Thank you for sticking with me to the end!

**Author's Note:**

> This story was an interesting challenge! I had been wanting to do Smutfest (despite only having written one smut previously) but I didn't really look into it until there were only 2 weeks before posting time. I figured I'd go for it anyway! 
> 
> [More A/N here](https://avechameleon.blogspot.com/2021/02/the-regime.html?zx=7f6ed9557412356e), including a playlist, if you want more. (Updated 2/16)


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